


Blue

by Dot_adsty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Memory Loss, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 66,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25012681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dot_adsty/pseuds/Dot_adsty
Summary: It's been five years since Jane (Hermione Granger) woke up not knowing who or where she was. She has no memories of her past, no memories at all, except for one-  a memory involving the colour blue. It's a specific blue that flashes in her mind almost constantly. She is connected to that shade more than anything else; it brings her peace, calmness. It reminds her of home. One day, one a trip to help reclaim her memory, she thinks she finds the owner of her blue, his eyes the exact hue that dances in her memories. Will this mysterious stranger lead her to her identity? More importantly, will he reunite her with her missing piece- the one she cannot remember she is missing?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 16
Kudos: 53





	1. Preface

She awoke with a start. _Where are you?_ She tried to get up.

"Argh," she moaned.

Pain was pulsating throughout her body. She tried again to get up, now noticing that she was covered in blood. Panic set in. _She needed to get out._ She looked around, she was in the middle of a clearing surrounded by trees _. She needed to get out._ She began running even as her body screamed in protest. _Get out._

It became clear that she was in the middle of a forest, where this forest was, she did not know. She kept running despite herself, each step becoming harder to take. She was clutching her bleeding abdomen, limping, fighting to stay upright. The corners of her vision began to darken. She no longer felt like she was walking. Perhaps she was floating? Then, just as quickly as she awoke, she lost consciousness.

* * *

Streams of bright colours passed over her; red, green, white. The pain in her body was becoming greater as the moments passed.

But then her vision was overtaken by the colour blue. Unlike the other colours, this did not scare her. In fact, she felt calm. It was as if it was the blue of the ocean; the waves relaxing her into a dream-like state.

"Long zahm."

She felt at peace, she was safe.

"Zee colm zoo."

The blue started to fade.

"Awf valken."

_ No!  _ She didn't want to leave.

Her eyes fluttered open. She was blinded by a bright white light shining in her face. She was in a white bed surrounded by people dressed in white, in an all-white room.

"Zee is wah," said one of the all-white people enthusiastically.

“Vise’t de woo d’best," the lady said slowly.

_ I don't understand.  _ She looked at the three people surrounding her bedside, they were now all looking at her with cautious stares.

"Woy hair common zee?", asked a man across from her.

She burst into tears. "I don't understand!" She said through the sobs. "Where am I?".

The three strangers looked at each other, perplexed by her outburst. 

"Ah, American!", one of them exclaimed, as though he had just put in the last piece into a complex puzzle. "You speak English?".

"Y-yes" stuttered the girl. "I speak English".

"Do you know where you are?", asked the man.

"Am I in a hospital?" She inquired timidly, trying to put together her whereabouts.

"Yes, Klinikum der Universität München". The second man stated, "and you are British, not American, am I right?", he asked with a wink.

An iciness overtook her. She could not remember where she was from. She could not remember who she was. She began to panic; trying to get out of her hospital bed. That's when she noticed the plaster and casts on her body. She froze. __

_ What happened? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Hi all, I hope you enjoyed the prologue. As a note (thanks to Leni for pointing it out) the phonetic pronunciation of the doctors speech was changed from Dutch to German. Though, bare with me, as I used google translate and my not-so-great-for-language ears to do my best to phonetically write the phrases out. 
> 
> ~Dot


	2. Chapter 2

It had been nearly five years since she had been found, barely alive, in a forest in Munich. It took her months to recover from her physical injuries. She spent most of that time reading books snuck in by her favourite nurse from the university library. If it hadn't been for the ability to escape to Neverland with Peter, or Wonderland with Alice, she probably couldn't have gotten through it.

When she wasn't in physical therapy, she was in mental therapy, trying to piece together who she was. She spent endless hours trying everything from hypnosis to attempting to paint her memories. When she first started, her therapist reassured her that it was normal to not remember traumatic experiences. It was our brains' way of protecting us, she had explained. But as the months went by with no improvement, her resolve seemed to falter.

The doctors were able to piece together some things about her. They guessed she was about 16-18. They could tell she had been malnourished and without much sunlight for at least a year. They were able to tell her more about her previous predicament, which made her feel somewhat thankful that she couldn't remember the details. There were whispers that she had been sold into slavery or perhaps kept in some deranged mans’ basement.

The German Landespolizei had searched where she was found. A shocked and shaken jogger recounted over and over again her experience of finding a hand, and then the rest of a body of a nearly dead girl on her daily excursion. Since it was thought she was British, the British police were notified and she was added to a database of lost and found people.

One time, a couple of years in, she was contacted by the British police. They told her of a girl, about her age, who had gone missing on a girl’s holiday to France years previously. The girl met her description- blonde, curly hair, brown eyes, average height, etc. She remembered waiting nervously in the police waiting room. Her legs bouncing in excitement and her hands twisting in her lap. She was going to meet her parents. She was going to find out who she was. But, the second they set eyes on her, she knew that would not be the reality. Her mom, no not her mom, began crying and shaking her head. She was not Laura Pritchard.

In Germany, unknown women (like herself) were called Ericka Mustermann. This didn't seem to fit her. Her favourite nurse decided to call her Jane instead, as she was British and that's what the British do. When she had to choose her new name (what a strange experience) she kept Jane, though decided against Doe as a last name. She was now Jane Darling.

The doctors and social workers in Germany didn't know what to do with Jane. There had only been a few cases of lifelong amnesia, and there was never a concern about citizenship. Jane didn't know a lick of German but was fluent in English (and seemed to know a few select words in Latin, for some reason). They ended up working with the British Embassy to get her a place in a care home in York so she could finish her education as soon as she was healthy enough to travel.

The first day she spent in her group home in York was also the first time she really looked at herself in the mirror. She was still too thin for her own good, but no longer looked ghostly. Her hair was unkempt, her curls turning into knots that splayed out at her head. Something about her hair felt off. When she was able to take care of it, she had beautiful golden locks that hit her around her waist. But it still felt wrong. She tried cutting it shorter, to her shoulders. But every time she passed a mirror a frown spread across her face. Then she chopped it into a bob. But then her curls ended up sticking straight out of her head, giving the impression that she has just been electrocuted. So she straightened her hair. It still felt wrong, but she just decided to stop looking critically in the mirror.

Most of her scars had healed over the years. But two had not. She had one small horizontal scar across her neck, for which she was often found in a turtleneck or a chunky necklace to cover it. There was also a series of scars across her left forearm. Once, she thought she could make out a word, or words, through the cross-hatched scars. It looked like woo blood, or maybe moo blood? She felt silly searching for these terms in the library and gave up after about 20 minutes. In the end, she got a tattoo on her arm to cover up her scars.

The tattoo artist warned her that it would be very painful to cover up that many scars, and suggested that she not do it. But, as each scar was covered with black ink, she did not feel pain but instead felt a release from her old life. The tattoo was of an arrangement of roses, their beauty slightly detracted by the thorns that surrounded them. 

Continuing her education proved more difficult than she expected. She had only a basic knowledge of Maths, English, and Science. Nonetheless, she was a quick learner and was able to finish her GCSEs and A levels. She went to the University of York and became certified to be an English teacher. Her first year of teaching had just ended. She had just finished and she loved working with the first forms. She enjoyed seeing their excitement at learning new things and sharing their favourite music or tele shows with Jane. Even the troublemakers caused her joy when they tried to make her life harder but instead made it hard for her to keep a straight face. She often thought about what she was like when she was 11. Was she a bookworm? Or more of a rule-breaker?

It had been almost five years since she had been found and she still couldn't remember a thing. Well, that's not true, she knew how to talk; how to do basic things. She could tell you what a dog was and how it was different from a cat or a mouse. But she couldn't tell you anything about herself. She couldn't tell you about her previous education, her family, her friends, or why she had the scars she did. Jane Darling was incredibly intelligent, but she didn't know squat about herself.

Her therapist had suggested to her with cautious excitement that there was a psychotherapist in Romania that had had great success with treating people with memory loss. Jane stopped holding out hope for her memory years ago, but since she was about to go on summer holiday and her therapist was looking at her so expectantly, she reluctantly agreed to spend her break with this new therapist.

So here she was, packing up for her 9 hour trip to Romania. As she zipped up her suitcase, she reflected on her surroundings. The majority of her flat was decorated sparsely, as she had to buy all of her furniture when she moved out of the group home. Of the furniture she had, the biggest and most notable was a bookshelf that spanned the whole wall of her living room. It was stacked with books, and once the shelves had filled, she took to stacking the books on top. That was a precarious situation, as she had to drag her dining table to the shelves and climb on top so she could reach them. The walls were stark, lacking any pictures of happy people doing happy people things; like going on a family holiday. There was only one thing hanging on her wall, a degree certifying her completion of her bachelor’s degree with first-class honours.

But her bedroom was a different matter altogether. The walls weren't the stark white of the rest of her flat, they were instead blue. In fact, most of the things in her room were blue. A very specific blue. She remembered almost making the DIY store employee cry while trying to mix the exact blue she had in her mind. The blue that she dreamt of nightly, the blue that was always with her.


	3. Chapter 3

Jane sat in a small pub two streets down from the inn she was staying in. She tried uselessly to focus on the book she was reading, as the raucous laughter of other pub-goers echoed through the tiny wood-lined room.

She had arrived at the inn in Romania the previous night. Today, she had her first appointment with Dr. Stoica. To say she was disappointed with their meeting was an understatement. She had tried not to get excited or put much stock into this new doctor. But, she decided to do some of her own research before traveling across Europe. She had gone to the library to google Dr. Stoica. Yes, yes she should have her own personal computer by now. But something about computers, and phones, and  _ technology _ just felt so foreign to her. Plus, she enjoyed her trips to the library. Well, a quick google search found lots of articles describing the great feats of the world-renowned psychotherapist Dr. Stoica. Most of them were in Romanian, but what she could understand was that he had had great success with people with memory loss. And not just from accidents and trauma (like Jane) but even those with Altzheimers and other degenerative diseases. So when she walked into his tiny, cluttered office in a building that had to be at least 300 years old, she did so expectantly.

But, their first meeting was anything but triumphant. The doctor was a small, aging man. When he stood, he was barely to Jane's chin. But, she thought this was likely because he stood with a hunch, using an ornately carved cane to stand. He had spectacles that seemed to be about 2 inches deep and a stark white beard that grew to his stomach. His white hair was fading from his head so that the only bits that remained were on the perimeter of his head. Jane couldn't figure out his age, though he seemed to be quite old. From his looks, he could be anywhere from old 60 to a young 80.

He motioned for Jane to sit on a couch directly facing him and sat down behind his desk.

Dr. Stoica's office looked exactly like how someone would describe a therapist's office if they had never been to a therapist before. There was, of course, the faded red velvet chair, for which Jane must have to lie on and talk about what she saw in ink blotted pictures. The room was cramped, filled with books, scales, and sculptures of the human head. It was covered in different patterned Victorian fabrics, all of which were faded and clashed with each other. Then, in the centre of the room was a mahogany desk, as cluttered as the rest of the room. Behind it sat little Stoica, barely a head above his desk.

But Dr. Stoica didn't show Jane Rorschach pictures, though she might have preferred that. Instead, he asked her to talk about herself. Not what she didn't remember, but about her now. The comings and goings of the last five years. She didn't understand how this could possibly help with her memory. But there they sat, talking for an hour, about her current self. She left confused, and without any more knowledge of who she was.

She went back to her room in the inn and read for a while, trying to escape. But then her stomach reminded her she needed to eat. So she packed up her book and made her way to the pub she passed on the way from the airport.

The other pub-goers were getting louder as time ticked on. She looked at her watch. It was barely half-past 7, how could they be so sloshed? She glanced up from her book, to try to attempt to give a meaningful glare to anyone she saw.

There were four men sitting at the bar. That's it, they were the only ones in the pub, and yet they were making the noise of a good twenty people. Jane scowled to herself. She knew she had no right to be so upset, but she had had a rough day, and this was not helping. The men did not turn from their spots to see Jane's angry face, instead they began to sing.

They were dressed in unusual clothing, to say the least. Two had on jackets that looked like a cross between pleather and alligator skin. Another looked as though he was a black bathrobe with a hood. Jane wondered if it was just Romanian fashion and she was behind on the trends (wouldn't be new) or if these men were just eccentric.

_ "Two, which was sad." _

Finally. They had finished their long, lamenting song. Jane had just caught the end of their tune and realized they were English. And eccentric, apparently. She put the money for her dinner on the table, and got up to leave, deciding that the quietness of her room was better than this. As she got up, one of the men turned to look at her. The lights in the pub were dim, and she could barely make out his features, but she could tell that she was staring at her. Her stomach lurched, she reached for the knife concealed as lipstick in her purse, which she had bought as soon as she moved to her flat. With her hand on the lipstick/weapon, she walked quickly out of the pub to the inn. Only looking back once to see if she was being followed, thankfully she wasn't.

* * *

The next day with Dr. Stoica wasn't much better than the first. He had asked her about her emotions.  _ Like all therapists _ . He wanted to know about the previous times she had been especially emotional. But, he asked her questions that she hadn't heard before. He asked about her surroundings, did anything happen around her that was strange when she was upset? Or at least that's what Jane thought he asked, his accent was so thick, it was getting harder and harder to understand him.

Jane did her best to recount these moments. Yeah, I guess, strange things had happened she told him. Like when she was really angry, and it was if everything in her path flew away. But that's just how it felt, it didn't actually happen. Or when she was being followed in the street on her way home from uni and suddenly her stalker was on the ground, moaning in pain. But she probably just blacked out and punched him, right? She left out the stranger goings-on in her life, she didn't want to be committed after all. She thought about the time that she had finally gotten the right blue paint from the DIY store. She was exhausted from her encounter with the sales lady, but she desperately wanted to paint her room. So she lugged the painting materials to her room, but as soon as she lifted her paintbrush the whole room was suddenly, impeccably painted. Yeah, he didn't need to know about that.

After her appointment, Jane had asked the owner of the inn about any restaurants near them that she could go to for dinner. But she was disappointed to hear that the only place to eat within walking distance was the pub she ate at the night before. So she walked back (a bit earlier than the night before) to the pub.

Thankfully, it was empty except for an elderly couple sitting in the corner. She took a seat in the same spot she had the night before and ordered her food. She was about to pay when someone walked in. It was the same man that had stared at her yesterday, this time he was alone.

The man was muscular. So much so, his jacket barely seemed to contain him. Even from her distance, Jane could see that he was heavily scared. His red hair deeply contrasted the brown and grey of the pub.

Jane quickly grabbed her purse and got out the money she needed to pay, barely noticing that her hands were shaking. She went over what she had learned in her women's defence class in her head as though it was a song on repeat.  _ Solar Plexus, instep, nose, groin, solar plexus, instep, nose, groin _ . She grabbed her lipstick and got up from her chair. She then groaned internally realizing that she would have to pass him in order to get out.

_ You can do this, you're prepared, he's probably harmless anyway.  _ She was determined to get out of the pub. She began walking to the door, which now seemed to be miles away. As she passed the man, she slightly knocked into him.  _ Why does he have to be so close to the door?  _ Against her better intuition, she looked up. What she saw knocked the breath out of her. His eyes were blue. Not just any blue, her blue. The blue she dreamt about every night. She felt frozen in her place. Then the adrenaline kicked in and she ran.

This time, when she looked back, she noticed he was following her. He wasn't chasing her, but he was definitely following her. Jane racked up all of her courage and turned around.

"D-don't come any closer. I h-have a knife!" She exclaimed, now realizing how she looked holding a lipstick at the man.

"Okay," the man said calmly, lifting his hands in the air slowly. But he had a weapon too. Or something? A stick, no it was too polished. Maybe a large pen? Or a concealed knife?

The man saw her staring at whatever it was he was holding in his right hand and lowered it. He placed the item into his pocket and put his arm back up. "I'm not going to hurt you". He said, taking a step forward.

Jane realized where she was and what she was doing and turned on her feet to run to the inn.

"Wait" he called after her "wait, Hermione!"

But she kept running, as she turned the corner she looked back to see that he was no longer chasing her. She continued to run until she was in her room. She triple checked the locks on her door before she crashed on her bed, having a restless night of dreams about red, green, and white flashes and of course _ her blue _ .


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Panic Attacks

Arthur Weasley was sitting in his office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when he heard a knock at his door.

"Come in, Evangeline," he said to his assistant.

Evangeline came in cautiously. It was her first week at her new position as Assistant to the Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. She was still getting used to her surroundings and was quite unsure of herself. It didn't help that her boss, Mr. Weasley (though he insisted she called him Arthur) was a war hero and practically famous.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Weasley"

"Arthur" he interjected.

"Right, er Arthur. You received this letter and it was marked URGENT, so I thought I needed to get it to you."

"Yes, very good. Thank you Evangeline" Arthur replied with a small smile before being handed the letter.

Evangeline nodded and backed out of the room.

Arthur looked over the envelope.

_ Arthur Weasley _

_ The Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects _

_ Second Floor, Third Office to the Right _

_ The British Ministry of Magic _

_ URGENT _

The writing was hurried and sprawled in green ink. Arthur could swear it looked like his second-oldest son’s writing, but why would he be writing to Arthur at work? And why would he not include his mother as an addressee? Fear struck Arthur as he opened the letter, worrying for the welfare of his son.

_ Dad, _

_ I know this is going to sound mad, but I believe I saw Ron's Hermione at a pub here. I could be mistaken, but I don't think I am. She didn't recognize me. _

_ I don't know. Thought It'd be best to let you know. _

_ Love, _

_ Charlie _

* * *

Arthur wasn't sure what to do with the information he had received. Hermione had been missing, presumed dead, for almost 5 years. But he was sure that there was one thing that he couldn't do- tell Ron or Harry. After all, Charlie had met Hermione only a few times before, so there was a good chance it wasn't her. There was no reason to get them worked up just to be disappointed again. Disappointed. That wasn't a strong enough word for what they had been through.

Harry had a tough time, as anyone would having had lost his best friend. He and Ron used their positions as new aurors to keep the search for her for as long as they could. But eventually, the leads dried up and their hope diminished. Harry tried to move on. Though Arthur was sure he hadn't completely. Harry and his daughter, Ginny, had been madly in love for years and they got engaged only a few years after the war. But, they had yet to get married. Arthur knew that this was because they were both holding out hope that their friend could witness their union.

Unlike Harry, Ron did not stop his search for Hermione. Over the years, the aurors official position changed from Hermione being missing to her being presumed dead. Even so, Ron continued his efforts. He had been so focused on his search for his lost love, that he had been fired from his position as an auror for "improper use of time and materials". In reality, he had nearly lost his mind, obsessing over her disappearance. He spent most nights awake, going over anything that could tie to her and his days frantically interviewing possible leads. He ignored his auror duties in his pursuits, and if Kingsley hadn't had had a say, he would have been fired months before. After losing his auror position, he began to work with his brother at his joke shop, spending his days fake-smiling with customers and his nights going over lists of the missing and dead. Arthur, and all others, were unaware, but the spare room in Ron's flat was used as a part shrine-part discombobulated collection of clues. The walls were covered in articles about missing girls, unusual weather patterns, and the followings of the death eaters that had snatched her. Books, articles, interviews, and journals covered the room, making it difficult to maneuver through. He was still searching.

Understanding the possible heartbreak that would happen if he told either men about the situation, he decided instead to talk to his middle son, George, to see what he thought. It had been years since there had been a real lead in Hermione's case. George agreed that the matter should be further investigated, if only just to say that they did all that they could. However, his work at Weasleys Wizards Wheezes was booming (as the Hogwarts students were on break) and he couldn't leave to check on the matter. Especially because Ron would definitely notice his absence and was sure to question it. George told his dad that he'd think more about the situation and talk to him tomorrow.

On George's way back to his flat in Diagon Alley from the Burrow, he bumped into Neville Longbottom. Neville was on break from his teaching duties and had just finished eating at the Leaky Cauldron with his wife. George decided to include Neville in on the mysterious appearance, and together they hatched a plan to find out for sure if this found girl was none other than  _ the _ Hermione Granger.

* * *

Jane changed her appointments with Dr. Stoica from the morning to the late afternoon. That way she could get dinner in town and then get a ride back to her room in the inn. It was such a small village that there were no cabs, instead, Stoica's assistant drove her to and from her appointments. It was also so small that there was no other place for her to stay, she had no choice but to stay at the inn while she was here.

Jane had mentioned her encounter with the red-haired man in the pub. She had dealt with anxiety and panic attacks since she was found. Being chased by this man didn't help with either of those. She gave every detail to the doctor, from the wooden weapon he held, to the fact he called her Hermione.

Hermione. She knew she recognized that name, but she just couldn't remember from where.

Dr. Stoica didn't seem particularly surprised by Jane's story. Though he never seemed to show much emotion.

The days continued on without anything of note. Jane had found a small cafe in town where she had her nightly meals, always on the lookout for the fiery-haired man. Though, to her relief, she never saw him.

It had been a full week since Jane had come to Romania. She had yet to have any memories of her past. So when Dr. Stoica suggested that they try something different for this appointment, Jane jumped at the chance. He explained that they were going to try hypnosis. He began to describe the procedure, but Jane interrupted him, she had experienced hypnosis many times before. But, Dr. Stoica quieted her, saying how his form of hypnosis is different. That she may not remember her experience when she awoke, but this was normal and could even show that there was progress in "unlocking her past".

Jane couldn't think how forgetting more experiences could possibly be helpful. But she decided to give it a go. After all, she did travel all of this way to see him. So she laid on the couch and closed her eyes, as per his instructions. She began focusing on her breathing as she heard him murmur something before she fell into a deep, forgotten trance.

_ Confundo _

* * *

Jane was feeling worn out and dazed after her appointment with Stoica. He assured her feelings were normal, and she had made progress during their new experiment. However, when Jane asked about what that progress was exactly, Stoica quickly glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner and exclaimed that it was getting late and they'd discuss her progress next meeting.

So, Jane headed down to the cafe feeling empty and confused. The short path to the cafe was lined with little stores and boutiques. Jane passed a bookstore that she had popped in a few days previously, taking a minute to look at the books displayed in the window.

Then, it hit her. She knew where she had heard that name before. Shakespeare. Specifically, "The Winter's Tale". She had read it when she was shut up in her hospital room in Germany. Hermione was a character in the play. It was such an uncommon name, and Jane was sure this is where she had heard it before.

She made her way to the cafe and ordered her dinner. The cafe was cosy and much more inviting than the pub. She sipped her tea while idly skimming through her book.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that someone was standing very close to her. For a moment, she felt panic, thinking it was the man. But, she was relieved to see that it was not the man, or even a man, but a very pregnant lady, about Jane's age, looking eagerly at her.

"Could I sit with you?", asked the mysterious woman, "it's just that there is nowhere else to sit".

Jane looked around perplexed, the cafe had never been full before. In fact, Jane was fairly sure that she had been the only one when she came in, not 10 minutes ago. But, as she looked around she was astonished to see that the cafe was, in fact, filled with people.

The pregnant woman was still staring at Jane with a huge grin, and Jane felt she had to say "sure", after all, she looked harmless.

The woman sat across from Jane with so much enthusiasm, Jane was surprised that the chair didn't crack under her. Then Jane felt concerned again.  _ How could this woman tell that she was English? _ She looked down at her book and realized that it was in English with the title in big, bold letters. Maybe this stranger had seen that. Or perhaps, she thought with a chuckle, the stranger could tell by Jane's lack of Romanian-looking fashion.

"I'm Hannah", the woman extended her hand to Jane, "it's great to meet you".

Hannah was likely the most enthusiastic and peppy person Jane had ever met.

"Jane", Jane responded, gently shaking her hand.

"What brings you to Romania?"

"Summer holiday", lied Jane.

"Me too! Me and my husband,  _ Neville _ (she punctuated his name, looking meaningfully into Jane's eyes as if she was telling Jane about a secret only the two of them knew) are here before the baby comes" she said, rubbing her stomach dramatically. "Our last bit of baby-free life. He's having a lie-in and I thought I'd explore the town".

"Congrats," Jane said because she felt like she was obligated to.

Jane tried to go back to her book but could see that Hannah was still looking at her as if waiting for her to ask Hannah a question.

"Where are you from?" Hannah asked, apparently done with waiting for Jane to add to the conversation.

"York", Jane lied again, but this lie was a necessary one. Strangers don't need to hear her sob story of not knowing who she was or where she was really from.

"Oh," said Hannah disappointedly, as their food arrived.

Jane thought that the food would be a respite from the niceties and small talk with Hannah, but she was wrong.

"Ooh is that a tootoo?", asked Hannah, pointing at Jane's forearm.

"Yeah, it's a  _ tattoo _ " responded Jane pointedly, never having heard of someone who didn't know what a tattoo was.

"I always wanted one of those, but my parents thought it was too mu- er much pain."

"It wasn't too bad".

"That's good.", responded Hannah. "Does it cover your whole arm? Why did you put it on your left arm? Why did you choose roses? Were you trying to cover anything up?", Hannah asked in rapid succession.

Jane didn't like these questions. They were getting too personal. And she especially did not appreciate Hannah's last question. She did not answer Hannah's questions. Instead, she feigned exhaustion and got up to leave, glad she had already prepaid for the food she had barely touched.

"Oh wait", Hannah stood up after Jane. In her haste to stand, Jane could see something poking out of Hannah's pocket. It looked exactly like the weapon the man had when he followed Jane.

Jane's breath caught, how could she be so trusting? She looked around in search of help. In shock, she could see that the cafe was nearly empty, no longer teeming with people. She hadn't seen anyone leave.

Was anyone there in the first place?

Jane did what she felt she had done a lot of recently, breaking into a sprint. It was still early, her ride wouldn't be there for another 30 minutes. But, she had to get away. She ran out of the cafe, heading to Dr. Stoica's office. She'd be safe there.

Hannah was chasing her (well, more like waddling towards her). Hermione kept running. Suddenly, there was a loud pop. She covered her head in fear and looked back. Now it wasn't just Hannah chasing her, but also a man, though not the ginger man from before. He called out for her "Hermione, wait, we just want to talk".

Hermione.

Who were these people? Some cult? Were they the ones who had captured her before?

Another pop, and suddenly the red-headed man was with the other two.

Jane could feel it coming on. "No, no, no. Not right now". But panic attacks don't listen to the person they are attacking. She could feel her breathing becoming jagged and it wasn't just because she was running. Her legs began to give in and she could feel her vision closing in. Ahead of her, she saw Dr. Stoica. She was going to be okay, she thought, as she lost consciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

Jane woke up in unfamiliar surroundings. She realised with a start that she was in a hospital room, as memories of her last moments flooded her. She began to get up, noting that she was not connected to any tubes or machines like she had been the last time she was in hospital. She was about to get out of the bed when the door to her private room opened.

"Dr. Stoica!", Jane exclaimed, feeling a sense of relief of a familiar, safe face. "There were these people, cult members I think, they were chasing me, I-".

"I am aware of your predicament", Dr. Stoica said in his thick Romanian accent. "They are not, as you say, a cult." He walked leisurely towards the end of her bed. "I have talked with the people you interacted with. I do not believe they are dangerous, in fact, I have good reason to believe they are your friends".

_ "My friends _ ?" Jane nearly spat. "They stalked me, chased me, and had some sort of- some sort of weapon!"

"Ah, a weapon, you say. What did the weapon you describe look like?"

"It was sort of like a stick, but polished and shaped, like a concealed knife of sorts," Jane responded, annoyed that this was what the Doctor was concerned about.

"A stick? Something such as this?" Dr. Stoica pulled his wand from his robes and presented it to Jane like a waiter presenting his best Sauvignon Blanc.

"You!", Jane bellowed. "You're one of them!" She attempted to escape when Dr. Stoica pointed the weapon at her, and with a flourish, a white light hit her square in the chest.

* * *

Jane awoke, once again in the bed of her hospital room. This time a nurse was in her room, placing a tray of food near her bed.

Or at least, Jane assumed she was a nurse, she had only seen nurses in scrubs. This woman, however, was dressed more like how the nurses dressed in a book Jane had read about World War II. The nurse had on a white cap and a white dress with a cross over the front, much like those serving in the war. The only thing that was different was the coat that she had on. It was a blue coat, without buttons or zippers, and reminded Jane of the clothing the strange men in the pub had been wearing.

"Please," Jane began. "I need to get out of here, there are people after me."

The nurse looked at her strangely. Jane wondered if perhaps she did not understand English.

"I get Doctor", responded the nurse.

"No!", shouted Jane, causing the nurse to jump. "He's one of them, I need to get out." She realised how mad she sounded, accusing a Doctor of being dangerous. In fact, she feared she may even be in a mental institution. There was no way anyone was going to believe her.

The nurse repeated, "I get Doctor" and hurried out of the room.

Before Jane could attempt to follow her, Dr. Stoica returned, this time with Hannah and the other, non-ginger man.

Jane suddenly could no longer think of what to do. Instead, she sat there, frozen. Panic running through her veins.

"Herm- er, Jane, is it?", the unknown brunette man said. "Please, we'd just like to talk to you."

Jane heard screaming ringing in her ears, it took her a moment to realise that she was the one who was screaming.

The unknown man picked up his wooden weapon and waved it towards Jane. But, instead of losing consciousness like last time, she felt a wave of calmness rush over her. She no longer wanted to scream or run, she didn't feel fear or panic any longer.

"I'm sorry to use magic on you, but I thought it would help you to feel calmer. We really do just want to talk", stated the unknown man. "My name is Neville," continued the man. "I believe you met my wife, Hannah". He motioned to his wife standing next to him, still carrying a large grin on her face.

Jane felt unnaturally calm. Not even flinching when Neville mentioned  _ magic _ .

"We really didn't mean to frighten you," Neville continued. "It's just that a friend of ours, a good friend, disappeared years ago."

Jane was now making eye contact with Neville but did not attempt to interrupt him.

"And when Charlie, that's the red-haired man you ran into, saw you. Well, he thought perhaps you were our friend. So Hannah and I traveled here to check. And well, after seeing you, and talking to Healer Stoica, we're quite sure you are her. He said that you don't remember anything from before 5 years ago?" Neville asked Jane.

"Yes," Jane responded. She was overwhelmed with the information Neville had shared with her. How had he been able to talk to Doctor Stoica (or  _ Healer _ Stoica, as he had said)? What had happened to patient privacy laws?

"Well, that's when our friend, Hermione, disappeared. He also says that spectacular things happen around you, that you're able to cause things to happen without doing anything except willing it?"

Jane considered this statement for a moment. She supposed that it was a way of looking at the unexplained incidents in her life, but she didn't respond to his inquiry.

"Well, erm, that would prove that you are our friend. You see, Hermione is a witch, and we think you are too."

Jane felt offended, what right did this man have to come into her life and insult her?

Neville didn't seem to notice Jane's change in demeanour, instead he lifted his weapon.

Instinctively, Jane covered her face in protection.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Neville said loudly but cautiously. "This is a wand, it's how wizards do most of their magic".

"Look". Neville lifted his want and pointed it towards the teacup on the food tray next to Jane's bed. "Accio cup," Neville said, sending the teacup flying towards him.

Jane peered through her arms, startled by the act. It would explain a lot of the things in her life if there was magic in the world. But, that couldn’t be true. This isn't a fairytale or some story from a book; the cup was probably suspended on wires or something. This must be a trap.

"Oh, erm," Neville said, aware that he had not convinced Jane. "Aguamenti," he said as water poured out of his wand and into the cup.

Jane had lowered her arms, but she was not yet convinced. She looked around, realising that Dr. Stoica had left.

Neville cautiously came closer to Jane. "You can do it too," he said, extending his wand to Jane.

Jane took the wand from Neville and held it with a pinch as if it was covered in maggots.

"Hold it like this," Neville demonstrated with his hands. "Wave it like this, and say accio- well whatever you want to retrieve. Accio is a retrieving spell, so pick something in this room that's small enough to hold and do the spell.

Jane took in a big breath and looked around the room. She noticed that her purse was in the room, and she could just make out her book. There's no way they could have rigged that.

"Accio book," she said, waving the wand as Neville instructed. To her surprise, her book flew out of her purse and into her left hand.

"See", Neville said proudly, "you're a witch!"

Jane could feel a small smile breaking through the corner of her mouth. She noticed that Neville was looking at her now exposed left forearm.

"She has a scar on her left arm," he said in a kind of reverie. "It spelled out  _ mudblood _ ".

Hannah gasped quietly from the doorframe.

_ Mudblood _ . _ That's what her scar spelled. Perhaps she really was this girl. _

Jane lifted her sleeve up so that her full forearm was exposed. At certain angles, you could still make out the scarring under the tattoo.

"I had it covered up."

"It's very nice, I love plants, myself. Is there a reason you chose roses?"

"Well yes," Jane recounted. "When I was recovering, there was a bed of roses right outside my window. When I first got there, they were dying. Once I was able to, I'd pour some of the water the nurses gave me on them. By the time I was ready to leave, they were in full bloom, and so  _ beautiful _ . And I thought _ , I did that _ , you know. So anyway, when I went to get my tattoo, they felt like the right thing to do. Rebirth, and all of that."

"That's lovely" chimed Hannah, coming out of her space in the door frame and sitting on a chair next to Neville.

Jane felt exposed, yet oddly safe. She usually would never tell strangers such an intimate story. In fact, she wasn't sure she had ever told anyone the origin of her tattoo.

"You look just like her too," said Neville. "Except your hair, Hermione was a brunette with curly hair." Neville looked perplexed.

"Well, my hair is naturally curly," Jane added, hoping that the information might help. She was starting to want to be this Hermione person and felt ill at the possibility that this may be another dead end.

"Would you mind," Neville asked as he picked up his wand off her bed, "if I try something?" He added quickly "it won't hurt or anything".

Under any other circumstances, Jane would say no. He wanted to use the magic on her. And the past instances had made her weary. But, for some reason, she was beginning to trust Neville. She nodded her head.

"Accio mirror", Neville said, not magicking Jane, but instead handing a hand-held mirror to her that had flown out of the private loo. "The spell I'm about to do would reveal if there are any spells on you that are changing your appearance. As I said, it won't hurt, but it may change the way you look".

Jane held her breath as Neville muttered "revelio".

It felt as though someone had cracked an egg on her head. She watched in astonishment as her blonde hair was slowly replaced by brown. Looking at herself in the mirror, her appearance no longer felt off. She  _ was _ Hermione Granger.

* * *

"Oh!," Neville exclaimed, "I've got a photo to show you".

Neville pulled a photograph out of his robe pocket and handed it to Jane.

Jane examined the photograph. It was obviously well-worn, it's edges were torn and crumbled. She looked at the people in the photo. It featured about a dozen young children smiling up at her, and waving, and moving. She cautiously felt behind the photo, checking for a battery pack or something that would prove that this photograph was in fact a small screen. But, she found nothing. She turned it over and looked closely at the writing on the bottom corner. In practiced cursive it said:

_ Gryffindor First Years _

_ May 1991 _

Seeing the confusion in Jane's eyes, Neville began to explain.

"Wizard photos are charmed so that the subjects can move and interact. It's a photo of us at Hogwarts, that's the school we went to."

Jane turned the photograph back over and studied it. After a second her eyes caught. There was a young girl smiling up at her. She had bushy brown hair, front teeth that were too big for her mouth, and big brown eyes that emoted joy. She instinctively brushed her finger over the picture of the young girl. There was no mistaking that the girl was Jane. Jane was inexplicably stricken by longing. She longed to have been in that girl's shoes; to have had her childhood, to have been  _ happy _ .

Jane looked beyond her younger self and saw that picture-her was flanked by two young boys, each with their arms linked with hers. Jane thought that one was perhaps Neville, but upon closer inspection, she decided that was not possible. The shorter boy had dark brown hair that was sticking up on its ends. He had lopsided glasses and a huge smile that mimicked the other children's joy. The other boy was about a head taller. He was lanky, with his trousers barely stopping at his ankles. He had the same red hair that Charlie had, but again, Jane could tell that they were different people. Jane looked closer, and could just make out the same blue eyes that Charlie had, glinting in the sun.

"That's Harry on the left, and Ron on the right," Neville said, pointing at the boys. "They're your best friends".

_ Best friends. _ Jane had never had best friends before. In fact, she wasn't sure she'd even really had friends. Maybe more like close acquaintances. It was difficult to make friends when she was in the group home, as everyone was extra suspicious of each other. Later in uni, she'd gotten close to people, but they all seemed to fall away. She knew that they hadn't really fallen away. She was the one who pushed people away by not talking about her past and her experiences. But, like the children who ended up in the group home with her, she, too, had trouble trusting people. She was always worried that someone she met was somehow involved in her disappearance, and she wouldn't be able to tell. Until it was too late.

"What happened?", Jane asked curiously. "I mean, if we were best friends, why aren't they here? Did we have a falling out?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Neville reassured. "It's just that you've been gone for so long, and there have been so many false leads. Charlie really didn't know you very well, and we didn't want to get their hopes up."

"Oh, I see."

"But, I'm sure they'll want to see you immediately, now that we know! If, that's what you want."

"Yes, I suppose".

Jane wasn't sure if she wanted to see the boys- well, they must be men now. It had already been such an odd experience to talk to Neville. He knew so much about Jane that she didn't. It felt like having a stalker who knew every detail of your goings-on, except they had information about you that even you didn't. It sounded like the three of them were close, and she wouldn't deny them seeing her. But, that's all they really would be doing,  _ seeing her.  _ Because she was basically just a shell of Hermione. She looked like her, perhaps she even sounded like her, but she was not her. She couldn't reminisce and chat about the "good old days". In fact, she thought that the boys may not even want to see her. It would probably be too hard to see someone you lost, who is there physically, but not really there.

Neville began pointing out the other children in the photograph. Including himself, who Hermione would have never guessed would grow into the man sitting next to her. In the photo Neville was short and dorky-looking, his body still holding on to the last of his baby fat. He was standing near the trio, holding up a large toad to the camera, like it was a prized pig. Now, Neville looked much stronger. He had grown into his body and stood with confidence. She wondered what would have had to have happened for someone to have such a dramatic transformation.

* * *

Dr. Stoica had come in some time later to discuss Jane's next steps. He confessed that he was a magical doctor, or healer, and used his magic to help both magic and non-magic people recover from memory loss. His clientele consisted mostly of people who had been struck by some sort of magical memory-altering spell. He used his magic and his prestige to find cases he believed were magically-induced, across the world.

He explained that Jane had a very powerful memory-altering curse placed on her. He had spent their "hypnosis" time by running a number of spells on Jane to try to figure out what exactly was causing it but was unable to figure it out. He never apologised to Jane for using magic on her without her permission. Jane wondered if this was normal for wizards, or if Dr. Stoica was a special case.

Dr. Stoica went on to tell Jane that he believed that he and his team of healers could figure her curse out, and attempt to reverse it, but it would take time. He then described his plan for Jane. Since Jane was a witch, she could  _ flu _ back to England. He didn't explain what flu meant, but he explained that she could be treated in London. There was a magical hospital there by the name of St. Muffins or Mango or something. Jane wished she had a notepad when he was explaining his plan. His team would flu in every day and work on Jane for an hour or so, and then go back to Romania the way they came. He said this as if London was somehow convenient for Jane. The drive from London to York was four hours on a good day. Jane wasn't sure how she'd manage to drive 8 hours every day for an indefinite amount of time, but she wanted her memory back, so she'd figure it out.

He also added that he didn't want her friends to tell her too much about her past. He worried that they would give her false memories; memories that weren't really hers, but ones that had been described to her to the point that they felt real. He wanted her memories to come back organically and felt like this was the best course of action for that to happen.

* * *

Jane, Neville, and Hannah gathered their things to prepare for their travel back to England. A nurse had brought Jane her belongings from the Inn, and Hannah had gathered hers and Neville's trunks.

Jane was apprehensive to travel the magic way, to say the least. No one had explained what flu was or what it would entail, and Jane was not one for not knowing things. The group made their way to the entrance hall of the hospital and stood in front of a large fireplace that was clearly the focal point in the room.

Neville looked back at Jane, suddenly realising that she didn't know what was about to happen. He began to explain the process of traveling by flu _. It's nearly painless _ . He described, not easing Jane's tension. He pulled a sachet out of his pocket with the words  _ Floo Powder _ emblazoned on it. He took out a bit of powder and handed it to Hannah.

Jane watched in apprehension as Hannah stepped into the fireplace said  _ Saint Mungos _ and disappeared in a flash of green flames. Neville handed Jane some of the powder and nudged her towards the fireplace. He reassured her that all was well as long as she said Saint Mungos clearly.

Jane hesitantly copied Hannah and dropped the powder saying "S-saint Mungos" into the void. Suddenly she was no longer in the fireplace. It felt like her body was being twisted in all different directions. She shut her eyes, willing the experience to be over. Then, she landed in a different fireplace. She peered out, thankful to see Hannah offering her a handout.

* * *

The healers at St. Mungo's wanted to run a few preliminary spells on Jane before she came back the next day to meet with Dr. Stoica. She had mentioned that she needed to find a hotel near the hospital. Neville questioned her as to why, and she explained her predicament to him. He told her that he could apparate her to her flat and back if she needed. He explained that apparation was like traveling via the floo network, except you didn't need a fireplace. She reluctantly agreed, not wanting to replicate the feeling of floo travel anytime soon, but saw how much more convenient it would be.

So Neville waited outside the exam room while Jane was examined by the nurse. She waved her wand around Jane pointing at different places and saying different spells. While she did this, much to Jane's glee, a quill magically wrote down all of the findings. Just as they were finishing up, Jane began to hear a commotion coming from outside of her room.

Her nurse excused herself to check on what was going on, as the noise grew louder. Jane suddenly felt worried. Was the magic world a safe one? She never thought to ask or check about safety or laws or  _ anything _ . As she was mentally kicking herself, the nurse came back in, looking somewhat more frenzied than before.

"You have visitors," she said, "they would like to see you."

Jane debated on whether to allow these strangers to see her, when the door opened again. This time there were two men standing in the door frame. They looked at Jane in shock, their mouths agape.

Finally one uttered in amazement:

"Hermione".


	6. Chapter 6

The Burrow was filled to its brim like it was most Sundays. The family had taken to eating outside, as the dining table in the house could no longer hold them. This Sunday, most of the Weasleys were in attendance. There was Bill, Fleur, and their two young children. Their oldest Victoire was playing with a toy broom as the adults chatted on. George, and his wife Angelina, watched in amusement, as Angelina nursed their son, Fred. Percy was deep in conversation with Harry about quidditch, as Percy's fiancée, Audrey, and Ginny talked about their wedding plans. Molly and Arthur took in the sight of their almost full family, idly holding hands with one another. And then there was Ron. He was sitting at the end of the table, alone, not really engaging in any conversations, but adding nods and grunts when required.

The adults were enjoying their after-dinner stupor as an owl swooped in and dropped a letter on Arthur's lap. The family looked at Arthur in anticipation, halting their own conversations. But to their dismay, Arthur did not open the letter. Instead, he looked at the envelope and then tucked it into his coat pocket.

"What was that?", asked Ginny.

"Oh nothing," responded Arthur, "just work business".

"But that looked like Charlie's owl", said Ron, surprising his family by talking for the first time since they had sat down to eat.

"Yeah", said Ginny in an accusatory tone, "that was Charlie's owl!"

"Is everything okay?", asked Molly barely above a whisper.

"Yes, yes, everything is fine. Charlie and I have been in contact, that's all. Nothing wrong, just a dad and his son talking."

This seemed to put everyone at rest as conversations began to pick up and gradually the family began to head home. But, Ron wasn't convinced. There was something in the way that his dad had unceremoniously shoved the letter in his coat. His story didn't hold up either, everyone knew that Charlie was much closer to his mum, and it would be unlikely that he would be writing to dad without her at least being aware of it.

So Ron stuck around under the guise of helping clean. He gave Harry a meaningful look when Harry and Ginny were saying their goodbyes, and Harry understood that he needed to stay as well. So Harry stayed to help "clean" and Ginny went home. Harry tried multiple times to question Ron, but Ron managed to avoid answering each time.

Arthur came in after saying goodbye and was surprised to see Ron and Harry still in his home, his wife having just retired to her bedroom.

"Dad", Ron started, "what's really going on?"

Arthur tried to feign that he did not understand what Ron was talking about, but the boys saw right through him. He reluctantly agreed to tell them what was going on, if he could first read Charlie's letter alone.

After coming back from reading the letter he urged the boys to sit down and began to recount what had happened. He told them of Charlie's letter, how it was very unlikely that he had actually seen Hermione, but how Neville and Hannah went to check just in case. He reiterated time and again, that they didn't tell the boys, because they didn't believe it was actually her.

"It was her though, wasn't it?" Ron asked barely above a whisper.

"Well, that's what this letter was about," Arthur responded. "I'm not sure what happened while your friends were in Romania, but they do believe that the woman they found, is indeed, Hermione.

Harry looked at Arthur in disbelief, but Ron was still staring at his lap, his face twisted in thought.

"Where is she?", demanded Ron.

"Saint Mungo's," said Arthur, "but-"

Before Arthur could finish his statement, the two young men had already disapparated to Saint Mungo’s.

* * *

Jane studied the two men standing in her door frame. She recognized them as the boys from Neville's photo but looking aged and weary. The tallest, Ron, was leaning on the doorframe, seeming like he could collapse at any moment. His face was stark-white, which contrasted his bright red hair, his fringe falling haphazardly into his eyes. He was almost double the height of his photo counterpart, still lanky, but now more filled out, his muscles threatening to break free of his shirt. Next to him stood Harry. Jane noted that he had replaced his circular, broken glasses with new, thick-framed ones. Like Ron, he looked sickly, apparently at the sight of Jane. He too had filled out quite nicely and seemed to be in excellent shape.

After what felt like eons, but was likely only seconds, Harry muttered "Hermione" in shock.

This seemed to wake Ron from his shock as he began to stumble-run towards Jane. Jane braced herself and closed her eyes in anticipation of whatever this man was going to do. But Ron had collapsed before he made it to Jane. He was hunched over, his hand reached out on Jane's bed. Jane looked on and noticed his back shaking as he sobbed.

Harry walked over to Ron, squatted down, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hermione," he uttered again, making Jane wonder if he knew any other words.

Jane hesitated before responding with "Harry." His reaction affirmed that she had made a correct identification.

Harry grasped Jane in a tight hug, also beginning to cry. At first, Jane did not reciprocate the hug, but without a way out, she began to gently pat him on the back.

After a couple of very long minutes, Harry released Jane.

"What happened?", he asked her.

_ What a loaded question. _

She decided to respond to his question with a question.

"What do you know?"

"Well, er, not much," said Harry. "We know that Charlie found you in Romania, and then Neville went over, and now you're here."

"Wait, are you hurt? Why are you in Saint Mungos?", he added with worry.

"I'm not hurt", Jane reassured. "Is that all you know about my, erm, predicament?"

"What do you mean?"

"I was in Romania for treatment. You see, I was found five years ago without any memory of who I was or what I had experienced."

"But surely you remember now?"

"No."

"I'm sorry", she added remorsefully.

"But you knew who I was, you know us!", Harry's tone was growing more concerned and anxious.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, "I only know your names because Neville showed me a picture."

Ron looked up from his position, his sobbing having stopped minutes ago. His eyes met hers, staring intensely. At first, she was taken by the blue she knew so well. Then, she began to grow unsteady as his stare became more forceful. He stood up, breaking their eye contact, turned on the spot, and disapparated.

* * *

The next few days followed in tedious monotony. Jane spent her days in her flat reading or preparing lessons for the upcoming term (there was still over a month until it started, but she didn't know what else to do). At 4:00 Neville would knock on her door and apparate her to her appointment. Then he would apparate her back at 5.

She was thankful for Neville's friendship. Even though they didn't discuss the past, she was able to learn more about him in the present. He was also a professor, in his second year as a Herbology professor at Hogwarts. They were able to share tips about unruly students and how best to get a group of 11 year-olds to settle down.

After her appointment one evening, a few days after being back in England, she was surprised to find that Neville was not the only one waiting for her. Harry looked up from his spot on a waiting room chair and smiled up at her. She hadn't seen Harry (or Ron) since their disastrous "first" meeting last Sunday. Harry had explained Ron's abrupt exit due to him being overwhelmed by all that had happened. He promised that Ron would come around, but after almost a week of not hearing from either of them, she wasn't sure he would be able to keep his promise.

Neville had kept in touch with both of them and, with Jane's permission, had attempted to give the full story. Or at least as much as Jane could remember.

So when she saw Harry waiting for her, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement.

"Hey," said Harry, doing that awkward dance people do when they don't know whether to hug the other person or not.

Settling for a handshake, Harry asked Jane how she was doing.

After the niceties were completed, Harry revealed his true intentions for coming to see Jane that evening.

"The family would really like to see you", he stated.

"Oh," responded Jane, not feeling sure of how to reply.

"I know that could be awkward for you," Harry said empathetically. "They want you to come to Sunday dinner this week. That's when most of the family meets. I realise that that is a lot of people. So I thought, if you'd prefer, we could just have a couple of people come at one time and see you here."

"Hmm." Jane pondered his statement. "Maybe I should just go to the dinner," Jane thought aloud, "just pull the plaster off, right?"

"Alright, we were thinking of inviting Neville and Hannah," he said, turning to Neville, who nodded in response. "Great, then maybe they can pick you up and bring you to the burrow?", he said again with another positive nod from Neville. "We eat at 6."

"Alright," said Jane. "Just so I'm aware, who all is family?"

"Oh," said Harry, forgetting that Hermione would not have known this information. "It's Ron's family, you remember Ron?"

_ How could she forget? _

"Well, it's his sister, Ginny, my fiancee, some of his brothers and their wives, and their parents."

Jane began to feel regret about agreeing to this outing. It sounded like a lot of people. Plus, she was going to have to see Ron again, and she wasn't looking forward to that.

* * *

After a week of treatments at Saint Mungo’s, nothing had progressed. Dr. Stoica reversed his position, and now was encouraging her to learn more about her past. Perhaps  _ that _ would be the key to unlocking her memory.

* * *

Jane was fussing over her appearance in preparation for Sunday dinner. She had changed four times.

_ What exactly does one wear to a wizarding outing? _

She thought for a moment that she may need to go out and buy a pointy hat. She ended up in a navy blouse and jeans, hoping that she wouldn't stand out too much.  _ Of course, you'll stand out; you're the prodigal daughter. _ She really did not enjoy being the centre of attention. The only exception was when she was lecturing her class.

There was a knock at her door. She welcomed Neville and a visibly even more pregnant Hannah inside. Hannah was fascinated by her muggle flat, asking questions about every other thing she passed on her way in. Jane had offered them tea, knowing that she was procrastinating the inevitable.

After tea and some biscuits, and lots of questions, it was time to go to the burrow. Jane had asked the couple if they had been to a Sunday dinner before. They said they had, and raved about Molly Weasley's cooking. Neville mentioned that they went over often after the war. Jane had questioned Neville about the war, but he waved her off, saying it would take all night to explain.

Finally, they all stood, Neville hooked arms with Jane, and they apparated to the burrow.

* * *

Jane only had seconds to take in the burrow, before she was engulfed in a hug. After some very tight moments, Molly Weasley released Jane and cupped her face.

"Hermione, dear", she said, tears shining unshed in her eyes. Jane nodded, trying to simultaneously take in the women holding her face and the home she was standing in front of. The former was a plump lady with a warm smile, her hair was greying, but the ends were the unmistakable red of the Weasley family. Jane presumed that this woman was Molly Weasley, the matriarch of the Weasley family. She was thankful that Neville had given her an overview of the family before they arrived. Molly let go of Jane's face as Jane looked agape at the building behind her.

The burrow was lopsided with multiple floors precariously balancing on one another, like a game of Jenga. Jane wondered if there was such a thing as Health and Safety in the wizarding world and if their home had ever been inspected for safety.

Jane was ushered into the burrow, where the rest of the Weasley family stood. They were waiting apprehensively, to meet (or re-meet) Jane. Jane was surprised that the small living room of the burrow could contain all of the Weasleys, who filled the room to the brim.

"It's Hermione!", Molly introduced Jane. Though there was no need, everyone knew who she was.

"Oh", squeaked a young woman, who looked to be about Jane's age. The woman hesitantly hugged Jane, then stepped back, seeming to analyse Jane. She stepped back even further and reached a hand out towards Jane.

"I'm-", Ginny started.

"Ginny," Jane finished.

After being looked on with confusion, she continued;

"Neville told me about you and your family."

One by one, Jane was reintroduced to the Weasleys. Everyone seemed happy, but hesitant, to see Jane. When introduced to George, all he could utter was a shocked "blimey".

"It's very nice to me-", Jane stopped herself. This wasn't the first meeting for them. After a moment of thought, she added: "to see you all".

* * *

After introductions, Molly led them outside, where a platter of food like Jane had never seen before, was laid out. Jane took a seat next to Neville and across from Harry. Ron sat quietly at the end of the extra-long table, unabashedly staring at Jane throughout the dinner.

Jane had hoped that the process of eating would prevent too much conversation from happening, but that's not how the Weasleys worked. Jane was asked about her memory, her career, her education, the fact that she  _ didn't realise she was magical, _ and her meeting with Charlie.

"But where did you live, after you were found?", Ginny inquired.

"After I left Germany, I was put in a care home so I could finish my education."

This statement was met with curious stares, so Jane continued on.

"A care home is a place for children and teens without any other place to live."

"So orphans?", Harry asked, a sad look in his eyes.

"Well typically, it's children in foster care. Children whose parents can't care for them. I think I was the only one who was technically an orphan".

Jane thought back to a conversation she had with Neville when he was bringing her back from Saint Mungos. She had realised that he hadn't mentioned her family to her, and her curiosity was getting the better of her. After some convincing (this was still when Hr. Stoica's orders were to not talk about her past) Neville explained that her parents had been killed when she was taken. He also let slip that it wasn't just Hermione that was taken, but also Ron.

"Who took care of you?", Molly asked worriedly.

"Well there was a carer who lived in the house with us, so I suppose she did. But, I only lived there for a year before I went to uni."

She then went to explain the educational system in muggle England. They were taken aback by how much higher education she needed to become a teacher, even with her doing an accelerated programme and finishing a year early. She joked that it evened everything out since, until meeting Neville, she believed she was a year younger than she actually was.

Conversation flowed easily as Molly magicked the entrees away and brought in the pudding. Jane had never felt more comfortable and more  _ full _ in her entire known life.


	7. Chapter 7

When taking her second slice of Bakewell tart, the conversation veered towards Jane's current treatment. She mentioned Dr. Stoica's new direction of encouraging her to learn more about her past.

"You should stay here, then!", said Molly excitedly. "The burrow is sure to bring up old memories!"

Jane was taken aback by this invitation. She was not aware that she was connected to the burrow in much of any way.

"Did I stay here often, before?", asked Jane.

"Just about every summer," quipped George.

"And Harry, Ron, and Ginny can stay too," said Molly, concocting her plan. "It will be just like old times," she added.

Jane was feeling uneasy about this plan; Molly Wesley didn't seem like someone you said "no" to.

"You can just apparate and get some of your things, dear," Molly said to Jane.

Jane felt a wave of gratitude for her lack of magical skills, as she saw an escape to this forced sleepover.

"I can't apparate," Jane tried to convey sadness she didn't feel.

"Oh, of course."

"Do you know any magic?", asked Ginny.

"No," responded Jane. "Unless you count the time I accio'd something with Neville's wand."

"You don't have a wand?", asked Ginny incredulously.

"No."

"Well that settles it," Molly said, even more gleefully than before. "We'll go to Diagon Alley while you're staying with us, and the kids can help teach you spells. In the meantime, Ron will take you to your flat so you can get what you need. Won't you Ronniekins?"

Ron nodded solemnly. Jane supposed that she wasn't the only one who had trouble saying no to Molly.

—-

Ron apparated Jane right outside of her bedroom door. Still getting used to landing, Jane stumbled and Ron instinctively reached out to help her. But, he pulled his hand back before he touched her.

"Is this the right place?", he asked.

"Yes," she responded, opening the door to her bedroom and walking in. "I just need to get a few things".

Ron hovered at the door of her bedroom, taking in the blue-ness of the decor.

"Wow, you must really like blue."

Jane felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. He didn't seem to realise that the blue that covered her room was the same blue of his eyes. She hoped it stayed that way.

She nodded in agreement and began haphazardly putting clothes into her suitcase. She didn't know how long she was going to have to be there, so she tried to pack whatever she thought she could need. At least she still hasn't completely unpacked from Romania.

Focused on her packing efforts, she didn't notice that Ron had made his way into her room, now looking at the mirror that stood over her vanity.

She let out a small gasp, worried that he had figured out the connection to his eyes and her room, but he wasn't looking at his appearance. Instead, he was analyzing a photo pinched in the corner of the mirror. It was a photograph of Jane when she had graduated from uni.

He picked out the photo and looked at it closer.

"Our kind of photos don't move," Jane stated, wondering if this was why he was so taken by her photo.

"It's you", he said, ignoring her explanation.

"Yes, it's me when I graduated university."

"You're alone," he said, somewhere between a statement and a question.

Jane was taken aback by this. Yes, she was alone in the photo. _What's wrong with that?_ She didn't have to be with others all of the time, after all. She felt her indignation begin to rise as he spoke again.

"You're blonde," he said shocked.

She couldn't help but chuckle at his reaction. She explained how she had been blonde for the past five years, and it wasn't until Neville did a revealing spell that they found that she was actually brunette.

Ron took a minute to ponder this statement, making Jane think that he knew more about this than she did. But instead of revealing some new fact, he added that she also had straight hair.

"Yes, but I did that."

"You did that? But how could you, without magic?"

"Well," Jane thought about how she could try to explain a flat iron to Ron, "I'll show you".

Jane led Ron into her bathroom and plugged in her flat iron. While they waited for it to heat up, Jane took the in between time to collect her toiletries. Finally, when it was hot enough, she took a strip of her hair and flat ironed it.

"But, how?". Ron was in shock.

Jane tried to explain heat and electricity and the metal strip that presses the hair straight. Ron went to touch the metal part and Jane pushed him away with a warning "no". She explained how it was incredibly hot and could burn him, but she was momentarily distracted by the electricity she felt when they had quickly touched hands.

Jane packed her toiletries into her suitcase, thinking about anything else she might need.

"I might grab a few books."

"Oh, yeah," Ron responded. "You might need them for some _light reading",_ he added with a chuckle.

Ron followed Jane into her sitting room with the bookshelf covering the perimeter.

"So I take it you like to read?", Ron said cheekily.

"Yes," she responded with a smile.

"Hermione couldn't stop reading."

"Oh,"

"Her favourite place was the library."

Jane felt a jolt of joy, finally feeling a connection with her former self.

"She was top of every class. Probably would have been head girl, if she…" Ron's voice faltered.

Jane had grabbed a few books and, desperate to avoid the sad direction this conversation had taken, told Ron that she was ready to go back.

—-

Molly led Jane to Ginny's old room. Jane was going to stay with Ginny there, and Harry and Ron were to be in Ron's old room.

"It's not like me and Harry haven't been living together for the last three years," Ginny had said sarcastically at this sleeping arrangement.

"Not that it won't be great to get to know you, Hermione," she added quickly, so as not to offend.

Jane had unpacked and was sitting on the camp bed in her pyjamas. Her body was feeling quite tired, but her mind was overwhelmed with all that had happened in the last couple of hours.

"Mum will be happy to have more help around the house, for the wedding," Ginny said, rousing Jane from her reverie.

"Oh, you don't know," Ginny added. "Harry and I have finally set the date. We're getting married on the 30th of August."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks! I know that all of this is probably _super_ weird for you, and you really just met me today, but Harry and I would love to have you come."

"Oh, thank you," Jane said, with Ginny's eye still looking at her in question. "I'd love to come."

"Fantastic! Harry will be so pleased!"

For the umpteenth time that day, Jane felt a warmth overtaking her chest and a smile growing across her face.

—-

Jane woke up from the camp bed. She had had the kind of fitful sleep one has their first night in a different bed. She looked across the room, and noticed that Ginny was gone from her bed. She checked her watch; it was half past 7.

Her nose led her down to the dining room, the smell of sausage and toast permeating her senses. She was shocked to see a full English breakfast set out on the table, though it looked like most of it had been eaten.

"Good morning, dear," Molly said, poking her head out of the kitchen. "Arthur, Harry, and Ginny have already left for work, but there should still be enough to eat."

Enough was an understatement. There was enough food for at least another family of five to eat, let alone just Jane. Sitting down, she tried to think of the last time she didn't have cereal for breakfast.

It wasn't until she sat down that she realised that Ron was also sitting at the table. He could be quiet, and quite invisible, when he wanted to be.

"Good morning", she said, putting sausage and an egg on her plate.

"Morning", he responded.

Molly came out of the kitchen with a steaming pot of tea and a cup for Jane.

"Today we are going to go to Diagon Alley to get you a wand," she said to Jane, handing her the cup.

"I've already owled Ollivander, and he's agreed to come out of retirement for you," Molly continued.

"He does owe you."

Jane had no idea of who Ollivander was, or why he owed her, but Molly continued before she could ask any questions.

"Then after that we'll pop by the Leaky and have lunch with Ron and George. After that they can show you around the shop!"

Jane realised, with some disconcernment, that for all the talking that had taken place the night before, she barely knew anything about those she was eating with. The conversations were almost all centered around her. She had no idea what Ron, or any of the Weasleys for that matter, did as a career.

She agreed to this plan and then turned to Ron to ask him about himself.

"Where do you and George work?", she asked him.

"At Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," he responded. "It's a kind of wizard joke shop."

"Oh, how interesting."

It did in fact sound interesting to Jane. She wondered what kind of products a wizard joke shop would have.

"It's called Weasleys, is it a family store?", she asked, wondering if the Weasleys had generations of wizarding joke shops.

"Yeah, George started it...with Fred," Ron said, looking down at his lap.

Jane wondered how an infant could have started a joke shop, but she didn't question it, especially after seeing the look on Ron's face.

Breakfast finished quietly, with Ron excusing himself to go to work at 8. Jane helped Molly clean up (the muggle way), then retreated to Ginny's room and lost herself in her latest read.

—-

Jane's experience with Ollivander was interesting, to say the least. He greeted her like an old friend, though she was still unaware who he was. Waking into the shop, she was reassured by Molly, that he was the best of the best. She was going to find her _perfect_ wand.

Ollivander instantly knew what her first wand had been, (vine, dragon heartstring core, 10 ¾ inches) and brought it up before even saying "hello". Jane assumed that she would just get another one of the same, but Ollivander chided her. Apparently, no two wands are the same, and anyway _she_ couldn't choose her wand. After all, he said, the wand chooses the wizard.

After attempting to use multiple wands with little success, she was finally matched with the right wand. When she held this wand, it felt like nothing she had felt before, she could feel the magic coursing through her veins. The magic made her heart flutter and she felt breathless. Her new wand was beech wood, had a dragon heartstring core, and was 11 inches.

When she reached into her purse to pay, Ollivander insisted it was on the house. She instead stuck her wand into her purse, (noticing a look of disgust by him when she did) thanked him, and left with Molly.

Diagon Alley felt like the perfect mix between familiar and unfamiliar. It looked like any old Tudor market in York, until you peered into the display windows. There were broomsticks for flying, animals for use as familiars, and the latest fashions (which made her laugh to herself) included big, pointy hats. She took her time walking with Molly, staring at the store fronts and peering into windows. But, she couldn't help but feel like the other wizards and witches were staring back at her. It made her feel uneasy, and she wondered if it was her fashion choices that made her stick out.

Ron and George were already sitting at a table at the back of the Leaky Cauldron. They were dressed in identical uniforms- bright magenta and green robes with _Weasleys Wizard Wheezes_ emblazoned on the back. George gave a big grin when he saw Jane and Molly, and beckoned them over.

Taking their spots across from the men, George asked how their shopping had gone.

"It was great," Molly said enthusiastically. "Hermione, show them your wand."

Jane reached into her bag, suddenly feeling the _weight_ of the wand. It was a weapon, after all. A wand had gotten her into this predicament; had wiped her memory, tortured her, killed her parents. She brazenly picked it up, showing it to the men, who passed it between themselves.

They went over the stats of the wand. Dragon core (that was your last one, Ron pointed out). Beech wood (very interesting, said George, making Jane think that he knew more about the subject).

They handed her back her wand and she drew her attention to the menu. She could barely even think of food at the moment, she was still full from breakfast. She decided to just order some soup.

The food had arrived, and George had explained that Hannah owned the pub, but she was on maternity leave. The lunch conversation mainly relied on small talk, and Jane was thankful that they stayed away from discussing her life.

When the check came, Jane went to grab her wallet, and was once again told that it was taken care of. This time, however, it was Molly that was paying. The bill was passed to Molly, and Jane looked over with a gasp as Molly placed golden coins onto the plate. Jane hadn't thought that muggle money and wizard money would be different. She looked down at the credit card she was holding in her hand; she wouldn't have been able to pay, even if she had to.

George questioned her about her credit card. Jane had tried to explain that it was a form of muggle money while he laughed incredulously.

"How could a piece of plastic be money?"

Jane went on to explain, to the best of her ability, about credit, and banks, and the difference between a credit card and actual money.

As they were getting up to head to WWW, Molly mentioned that Hermione had savings in the bank just down the street, that she could get.

Jane looked at the women in surprise.

"I had, er, have wizarding money?", Jane asked.

"Yes, of course," Molly replied softly. "And likely a good amount from your Order of Merlin winnings."

Jane lost step with the others, thinking about this. Yes, she did have some savings, but not much. After all, she went straight from uni to being a teacher. And her teacher's salary was not much.

Ron had noticed that Jane was trailing behind the others, and slowed his pace.

"I was pretty shocked when we got our winnings, too," Ron said.

Jane was still too preoccupied with the idea of having funds, that she didn't question that they both had winnings. She just assumed that they had won the wizard lottery, or something.

"It's just not something I'm used to," she said quietly.

"Yeah, I get that," Ron said with a chuckle. "You do have _enough_ though?", he added cautiously.

"Yeah I have enough," she replied, "a couple hundred pounds after next month's rent."

Ron looked at her, perplexed.

"I don't know how much that is."

"It's more than enough to get by before term starts up again, as long as nothing major happens," replied Jane.

"Nothing major?", he asked.

"Yes, like the water heater breaking or the sink exploding or something.", she said with a smile at the visual of an exploding sink.

"Well then I guess it's good you're staying at the burrow, then.", Ron said, with a slight smirk.

"Yes, I suppose it is."

The interior of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was an assault to the senses. The walls were covered from top to bottom with multicoloured products with names like Decoy Detonators and Nose Bite Teacups. Many of the shelves played music, all a different tune, and all at a different time. The store was filled with the aroma of candyfloss, baked goods, and fresh licorice.

George led Jane through the store, showing her special products in each section.

"Here's our WonderWitch line; we've got all sorts."

George picked up a product that said Ten Second Pimple Vanisher.

"This one's pretty self-explanatory." He handed Jane the product to examine.

"We used to sell love potions," he added wistfully.

Jane looked at him with curiosity.

"They were potions that would make the intended person fall in love with the giver. Well- not exactly love, but the closet one can get with magic. But love potions were outlawed years ago." He took back the pimple vanisher and put in on its intended shelf.

"Yes, I can see why," Jane said with a twisted face. She didn't want to think about how that potion would be used in the wrong person's hands.

The tour continued with Jane being more impressed by each new product more than the last. She was awe-inspired by all that could be done with magic, just for entertainment.

Maybe, she thought, magic isn't all that bad.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW-panic attacks, mentions of sexual assault

The rest of the afternoon passed in a flurry. Molly took Jane to her appointment at Saint Mungos (which was uneventful, yet again) and cooked another impressive homemade meal for dinner.

Jane helped clean up after dinner, this time attempting some household spells that Molly was teaching her. She had broken a couple of plates, but thankfully they were easily (magically) fixed.

Making her way back up to Ginny's bedroom, Jane was starting to feel the exhaustion of the day overtake her. Perhaps, this is why she forgot to knock when she entered the other girls room.

She entered to find Harry and Ginny entirely too close to disguise what they were doing when Jane interrupted. Thankfully, Jane thought to herself, they were fully clothed and seemed to only be snogging.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jane said, feeling a blush creep over her face.

"It's no problem," responded Harry, with a smirk on his face, as he untangled himself from Ginny.

Jane remembered that the two of them had been together for ages, and engaged for almost just as long. She suddenly felt guilty for being the reason they were at the burrow, having to sleep separately.

"I'm sorry," she started, "that I've gotten you all into this mess. I'm sure you'd be much happier in your home."

"It's really no problem," said Harry.

"Yeah, like I was telling you before, Mum would have made us do this anyway, for the wedding," added Ginny.

Jane smiled halfheartedly, though she did feel a bit better about their predicament.

"So your day went well?", asked Harry.

Glad for the change of subject, Jane enthusiastically described her experience getting a wand and going to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"It was really incredible! And they came up with those products themselves. Ron was saying that George started the shop? With Fred?" Jane knew she was poking the preverbal bear, but she was desperate to learn more about this world, the Weasley's, and herself.

"Yeah Fred and George started the shop years ago," said Harry.

So the Fred who started WWW must not be the same baby Fred Jane met the day before.

Seeing Janes confusion, Ginny added:

"Fred and George were twins, Fred died."

"Oh no, I'm so sorry," responded Jane, thinking of the horror of losing one's twin, and realising that George didn't just lose a twin, but the Weasley's lost a brother and a son.

"That's absolutely terrible. Was he sick?" Jane knew she shouldn't poke around this subject, but her curiosity trumped her politeness.

"Er- no, he was killed," said Harry.

Killed? How could he have been killed. Different scenarios flashed through Janes mind; car crash, break in, murder, war.

"Did it have to do with the war?", asked Jane, remembering what Neville had mentioned days ago.

"Yeah," responded Harry, looking slightly surprised at Jane's knowledge. "He was killed during the battle of Hogwarts."

"Oh".

"Wait, Hogwarts?", Jane asked frantically. "The wizarding school? The school we all went to?"

"Yes."

"Why would there be a battle at a school?".

Jane thought of soldiers overtaking classrooms loading their guns (no, _their wands_ ) behind school desks.

"Why would there be soldiers at a school? Was Fred in the military?"

"Well, not exactly," responded Harry calmly. "It wasn't that organised, we weren't really soldiers."

" _We_?", Jane asked incredulously. "You were there too?"

"Well, er, yeah, we all were."

"Even you," he added.

_Even me_. This would have been before she ended up in Germany. She would have been what, 17? 18, tops. Fighting in a war? No, that wasn't her.

Jane began taking her clothes out of the drawer that Ginny had cleaned out for her, and putting them in her suitcase.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You've got the wrong person."

"What do you mean?", asked Ginny.

"I'm sorry if I've given you hope, but I'm not Hermione."

"What are you talking about?", asked Harry.

"I'm not a fighter. I wouldn't be in a war. When things get tough, I'm the girl scared shitless in the corner," she pointed to the corner of the bedroom for emphasis. "I'm not _brave_. So, I'm afraid, we've all been mistaken."

"No," said Ron from the doorframe, making Jane jump, as she didn't notice him listening.

"You're definitely Hermione," he added.

"How do you know?", asked Jane, pausing her packing efforts.

"Well you look exactly the same, have the same features, both can do magic, and both talk the same. But, I really, truly, knew when I saw your sitting room."

"My sitting room?", asked Jane with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, and the fact that it was covered in books," Ron said with a reminiscing smile. "Hermione loved to read."

"So what? So, we both like to read! That doesn't mean that I'm her."

"When the war was over you, me, and Harry were all given spots in the aurors," Ron began, seeming to ignore Jane’s outburst. "That's the wizard police," he added in explanation. "Normally, someone would have to have top marks to even get in, and then do three years of training. But the three of us were offered positions without having to do any of that. Harry and I immediately jumped on it, I mean it is a great job, and we wouldn't have to go back to Hogwarts. But you, you said no. When I asked you why, you said pretty much what you said just now; _I'm not a fighter_. And you weren't, you only did it because, because of-"

"Because of me," added Harry solemnly.

Jane tried to take in all that had been said, but she found she was just left with more questions.

"Why?", she asked.

"Everyone had a choice if they wanted to fight; everyone except me. See, I was chosen by Voldemort, er, kind of the wizarding equivalent of Hitler," he added, seeing Jane's confusion. "He decided that one of us was going to have to kill the other. And you stayed, and you fought, to give me the chance to survive."

"But you were a child! Why would wizard Hitler choose you?"

"Well, it's somewhat complicated," Harry began, but Jane stopped listening, she was too lost in her own thoughts.

She began to add things up, the battle, the war, grown men trying to kill children, Fred, her kidnap, her torture, her _parents_. What kind of world was this? It certainly wasn't safe. And she knew that she only knew the half of it. Panic overtook her and she knew she had to get out.

She jolted up, aiming for the door, but her chest began to ache as her breathing became more laboured. She clutched her chest and urged her body to stay conscious.

She barely registered that Ron had put his hands on her arms.

"Look at me," he urged, "look at me, Hermione."

She willed herself to look into his blue eyes, trying, but failing, to steady herself.

"I want you to tell me five things that you can see," he said.

"W-what?", she asked. She was barely able to breathe, how was she supposed to concentrate on anything?

"Look around, tell me five of the things you see."

"Erm," she looked around frantically. Then, trying to focus, she began to recount what she saw.

"The c-camp bed."

"Good, keep going."

"The mirror, the ceiling."

"Good, two more."

"My suitcase, you."

"Great, now tell me four things you can feel," Ron said, slacking his grip on her arms slightly.

_What you feel._ Okay Jane, you can do this. 

"My tongue in my mouth."

"Okay"

"My feet on the floor, the elastic that's too tight my hair, your hands on my arms," she said looking directly into Ron's eyes, beginning to feel calm.

"Three things you can hear", he said, presenting it more like a challenge.

"Hmm, that's tricky," she said with a slight smile. "Well when you're talking, I can hear you," she added.

"Alright, two more," he said, goading her on.

"I can hear an owl outside hooting. And… the floorboard creaking underneath you, everytime you shift your weight from one foot to another."

Jane was no longer feeling the effects of her panic attack; her breathing was steady, she wasn't shaking, she didn't feel the need to get out.

"How did you do that?", she asked Ron, sitting down on her camp bed. She wondered if he was using some sort of magic on her, like Neville had done in Romania.

"It's a grounding exercise," he said, sitting down next to her. "Hermione, er, you used to have panic attacks too."

"Oh."

"It's much safer now," said Harry. "The death eaters, those were the bad guys, who were involved in the war and your kidnapping, they're all either in prison or dead."

"I want to know what happened," Jane started, "all of it."

"A lot happened," said Ginny.

"I'm tired of being in the dark," said Jane firmly.

"Alright," said Harry, magicking two chairs into the room and setting them across from Jane and Ron.

They started at their first year, talking about Hogwarts, the sorting hat, and the time they all became official friends. The conversations went from first year all the way to the end of the war. They laughed, cried, and held each other. Jane was mostly silent, only speaking up when something _especially_ outrageous happened.

—-

"I was a _cat_?"

—-

"So wait, we broke into the Ministry?"

"Well, we didn't break in, as much as we were let in."

"It wasn't locked?"

"No, I guess not."

"And then the bad guys, the death eaters, were waiting for us?"

"Yeah."

"And we battled them, at 15?"

—-

"They couldn't remember me?"

"Yes."

"And I did that on purpose, to protect them?"

"Yes, that's why we were taken, after the war, it was when we went to get them and change their memories back."

"Oh."

—-

After they went over the battle of Hogwarts, it was half past 3 in the morning, and they decided to call it quits, for the time being.

Jane was sure she wasn't going to be able to sleep with all of the information she learned spinning around in her head. But, as soon as she laid her head on her pillow, she fell into a deep sleep. Only dreaming of one familiar thing; blue, the blue that she was now absolutely sure was the blue of Ron's eyes.

——

The next day passed in a hazy daze. Harry, Ron, and Ginny all had work, and Molly had enlisted Jane's help cleaning the burrow. Harry's birthday was on Thursday, and they were going to have a small celebration.

Reflecting on the long conversation that had taken place the night before, Jane had a lot of questions. So much of what was said felt so improbable. On top of that, she felt like they weren't telling her everything, as they seemed to gloss over important events.

The unmentioned things were the things that she wanted to know most about. She wanted to know what happened after the war, especially what happened to her and Ron. She wanted to know more about her parents, were they buried anywhere? Do wizards even bury their dead? But, she didn't want to dampen the upcoming celebration, so she decided to keep her questions to herself. For now, at least.

—-

Harry's birthday luncheon had gone quite well. Most of the Weasleys, including Ron, Ginny, and George, had gotten the afternoon off for the celebration. They were joined by Harry's friend Luna and his godson Teddy. The food went over well (how could it not, with Molly's cooking?) and Molly had made a birthday cake in the shape of a snitch.

"This is the same cake I made for your 17th, dear," Molly said, talking to Harry, but looking at Jane.

Jane wondered if Molly was trying to jog her memory by recreating the events of Harry's old birthday. Of course they didn't. But it did start a long conversation about what a snitch was and what quidditch was. Which led to Harry excitedly suggesting, instead trying (and failing) to explain the game of quidditch to Jane, why don't they show her?

So, after cleaning up, Harry, Ron, Ginny, George, Jane, and Luna headed to the field behind the burrow. Teddy had gone home for his nap, and Molly and Arthur excused themselves (presumably also for an after-lunch nap).

There was much discussion about who would be playing whom, especially since Ginny was a professional quidditch player. But, after much deliberation, it was determined that Harry and Ron would play against Ginny and George, with Luna as a referee.

Ginny offered to show Jane what it was like to fly, but Jane vehemently refused. She was not good with heights, but she was excited to watch.

Even though she had no idea what was going on (and Luna's narration did not help) she was thoroughly enjoying watching the game. It was a temperate summer day, with the sun peaking through the clouds. Jane closed her eyes, feeling the sun on her face and vaguely listening to Luna's narration.

"George has the bludger, he's right in front of the cloud that looks like a bunny. Or is that more of a dog? What do you think, Hermione?"

Jane enjoyed the young witches company, though she rarely knew what the other was talking about. Many times throughout lunch, Luna had told Jane something fantastic about a magic spell or animal, with Jane thoroughly interested. But, she could always see someone (mostly Ginny or Ron) shaking their heads or otherwise trying to mime to Jane to take what Luna was saying with a grain of salt.

Before she knew it, the game was over and they were heading back to the shed to put the brooms away. Ginny and George had won by a landslide, but Jane didn't really understand how.

"What'd you think of the game?", Ginny asked Jane, putting her broom away.

"I really enjoyed it! I can't believe you can do anything while so high in the sky!", exclaimed Jane, which made the group chuckle.

"I'm not sure that you were that excited about quidditch before," said Harry, teasing. "I don't think you even knew how it was played."

"I still don't know how it is played", replied Jane, going along with the teasing. "I'm not sure I'll ever be _into_ quidditch, but I enjoyed watching everyone play."

"Oh, I think you were into quidditch", said Luna.

"What do you mean?", asked Jane.

"Well, if you weren't into quidditch, why did you only date quidditch players?", said Luna matter-of-factly.

Jane could sense the tension in the air after Luna's statement, but that didn't stop her from wanting to know more.

"Oh?"

"Well there was Krum, and I think you had a fling with Cormac, and of course there was Ro-"

"Well, I've had a great birthday!", said Harry, a little too loudly and a little too enthusiastically, cutting off Luna's sentence.

But, the damage had been done, and Jane noticed Ron slink off back in the direction of the field.

—

The group tried to continue on, without Ron, as though nothing had happened. Jane checked her watch and noticed that he had been gone for over 15 minutes, and was starting to get anxious. She didn't know Ron well enough to know if this was typical behavior for him. But, she was beginning to worry if he was okay. She also wondered if she should do anything about it. After all, they were talking about her (with him) when he disappeared.

Finally, she worked up the courage and asked Ginny if she knew where Ron was. Instead of saying _he's fine_ , or _don't worry about it_ , as Jane had assumed she would, Ginny told Jane where she believed Ron would be. Jane took this as a sign that she was doing the right thing and headed the way in which Ginny had described. Jane wouldn't have felt so confident, if it wasn't for the fact that she had a plan.

Following Ginny's directions, she found Ron sitting by a small lake behind the field. He was aggressively skipping (well more like throwing) stones. Jane walked over and sat next to him.

"I'm just going to sit here and not say anything," she said to Ron.

Ron looked over at her with a raised eyebrow. Jane realised there was a flaw in her plan, she was going to have to talk a bit; to explain her idea. So she continued on.

"I just thought, if you just look at me, I _am_ Hermione. It's when I open my mouth that I ruin the illusion. So, if I sit here with you, and don't talk, then we can pretend that nothing has changed; that I'm still the Hermione you know. If only for a few moments."

Jane turned back to face the lake, waiting for Ron to respond. She had just about given up hope that he was going to say anything, when he spoke up.

"Well there's just one problem with your plan," he said.

"Oh, what's that?"

"If nothing had changed, and you were Hermione with all of her memories, I don't think we'd _just_ be sitting here," he said with a cheeky smile.

"Oh," Jane responded, feeling warmth spread out across her midsection. "Well, I can't help you there," she said with a grin.

After sitting in comfortable silence for as long as Jane could take, she decided to finally end her plan.

"So we were together, back then?", she asked.

"Yeah."

"How long were we together?"

"Well, we had been best friends since first year. And we fancied each other for just about as long. But, all in all, we only really dated for about a month."

"Oh." Jane didn't really know what else to say. She was trying to take in all that he said. A month wasn't really very long at all. But, they clearly had history, and had been through a lot together. She wondered about the extent of their relationship.

"Can I ask you something somewhat personal?", she asked.

"Look, Hermione," he said, turning to face her. "I know you probably want to know about what happened when we were taken. And it might not be fair to not tell you. But, _I_ can't tell you. It's too much. In this instance, I think you're better off not knowing."

Jane felt her breathing become more laboured. He was looking so intensely into her eyes, she had to look away. She hated not knowing things, but the way he looked at her, the way he talked to her, she couldn't argue.

"I wasn't going to ask you about that, well not exactly."

"Okay."

"Okay," she took a deep breath. "When I was found, the doctors were able to tell some of what happened, some of the trauma that happened. And I, well," she stuttered, wondering how was she going to say this? "I was wondering if we, you and I, if we had been intimate before?"

It took Ron a minute to understand what Jane was trying to ask. Then he nodded his head “yes”.

"Good," she said, issuing a look from Ron. "What I mean is, it's good that I had a positive experience before..". She knew that it probably didn't make a difference to before-Hermione. Assault is assault, it doesn't matter how many times someone had a positive experience before. But this knowledge helped now-Jane feel a bit better; a bit lighter.


	9. Chapter 9

The rest of the week passed extremely quickly. Jane spent her days cleaning with Molly and her evenings trying to get as much information out of Harry, Ginny, and Ron as she could- without overstepping. 

When she asked about her parents, she was pleased to find that they had a muggle funeral and were buried in a cemetery. Not only that- they buried in the Ottery St. Catchpole cemetery in the Weasley’s plot. She was surprised and grateful that the Weasley’s buried her parents in their plot, but when she asked about it, she was simply told  _ of course they are _ . 

She decided to ask for directions, so she could visit their graves. But, instead of a map, they told her that they’d all go after Sunday dinner. She would have been perfectly fine going on her own. However, she got the impression that this lot did everything together. 

So, after a filling dinner, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Jane headed off towards the graveyard. Jane wanted to bring flowers for her parents, but as she was stuck in the burrow, (and felt wrong picking flowers from Molly’s garden) she didn’t have any. To her shock, Ron had taken care of it and brought a beautiful arrangement of roses, carnations, and lilies. 

The trek from the burrow to town was the toughest, as it was mainly uphill and through tall, grassy fields. But, once they got to town, it was only a quick walk to the cemetery. It was still light out- but only just, when they made it to the graves. Ron led them through the cemetery, winding through crumbling graves from centuries ago until finally ending up in front of the Granger’s gravestone. 

There was already an assortment of flowers there, placed thoughtfully across the grave- though they were nearly dead. Ron bent down and replaced the wilting roses and orchids with the new bouquet, and stepped back. In fact, they all stepped back, as if to give Jane some privacy with her parents. 

Jane looked at the gravestone, it was a shiny, white marble, and looked recently cleaned. She squatted down and looked closer at the inscription. 

_ In loving memory of _

_ David Paul Granger 1957-1998 _

_ and _

_ Jean Valerie Granger 1958-1998 _

_ We lived together in happiness, _

_ now we rest together in peace. _

Jane touched the gravestone with one hand and pulled out what she had brought with the other. She wanted to leave them something, and without flowers, this was the best she could think of. She placed her copy of  _ The Winter's Tale _ on their graves. She wasn’t sure if they had read the play, or had any connection to it, but it was the only link she had to her name, and it felt like a link to her parents, as well.

But, looking at her parent’s grave, she couldn’t help but feel disconnected from them. She had only seen one picture of them, one that Harry had found of them with the Weasley’s at Diagon Alley the summer before their second year. She tried to picture what they would look like 6 years later, but she couldn’t conjure it. 

She thought it was fitting though; that she couldn’t remember them. Since, from all that she could put together, they likely died not remembering who she was. 

She stood up and turned to leave. There was an emptiness that filled her; she couldn’t figure out how to feel, how to grieve- for the parents she didn’t know. She looked back once, taking in their graves, her book, and the colourful, lively flowers Ron brought, which seemed to portray the opposite of what she felt. 

What Jane didn’t know was that Ron visited her parent’s graves weekly, cleaning and placing fresh flowers atop it. He could have magically charmed the flowers to never die, and leave it to that. Yet, for the longest time, Jean and David were all that Ron had left of Hermione, and he couldn’t leave them. Especially since that’s what he felt he had done to her. 

* * *

Jane awoke that night to the sounds of screaming. She flew out of bed, only to see that Ginny was already up, wand out, on her way out of the door. Jane hesitated for a moment on whether to grab her wand as well. It didn’t make much sense, since she didn’t know any defensive spells. She thought she could at least maim an attacker by sticking it in his eye- if she could get close enough, that is. So, she grasped it and followed Ginny out of the bedroom. 

There was another scream, and Ginny mouthed  _ it’s Ron  _ to Jane. Fear struck Jane as she quietly, but speedily, followed Ginny up to the attic bedroom. 

Getting closer, they began to hear another man’s voice. It was stating things like  _ it’s okay  _ and  _ wake up.  _ By the time the girls got to the door, it was clear to Jane that Ron was having a full-blown night terror. She remembered this being a common experience for many of the children in her group home. 

She wanted desperately to slink away; this felt way too private, too personal for her to be involved in. But Ginny had already opened the door, alerting Harry of their presence. Jane wondered if she could still make an escape, when Ron, still in his night terror, called out for her. Well, not really for her, but for  _ Hermione.  _

She felt a tug towards him. Harry was having no success at waking poor Ron. Jane wondered if she would do better; since he was dreaming about her. So, she cautiously walked towards the pair. She kneeled next to Harry, who stood up to give her more room. 

“Erm, Ron,” she started, feeling less confident in her plan. “It’s me, it’s Hermione. You’re okay, everything’s over.” She didn’t know if what she was saying was the right thing to say, or if it was even helping- until Ron reached out and grabbed her hand. She continued gently talking to him as he was jolted out of his night terror. 

It took him a minute to register where he was and what was happening. As he awoke, he continued to hold her hand. Jane noticed that Ginny and Harry had quietly stepped out. They were alone. 

They took some time, simply sitting there with each other in silence. But then, Ron spoke up. 

“They made me watch,” he said, with a pained and broken look on his face. 

Jane shut her eyes.  _ This _ is what he was dreaming about,  _ this _ was what he was going to talk about. 

“They made me watch everything. And I couldn’t protect you; I couldn’t save you.” 

Jane tried to think of something to say. Some calming platitude that would make everything better.  _ It’s okay _ , but it wasn’t.  _ I’m here,  _ but she wasn’t, not really. 

“I never stopped looking for you.”

Jane looked into his eyes, she could see the pain of the years he spent searching for her. But there was something else there, something she couldn’t quite figure out. 

“Even when they pronounced you dead; when they were no longer looking for you, but instead looking for your body.” Ron paused, looking mournfully at his lap. “It was my fault, you know, that they pronounced you dead.”

This was not something that Jane knew. In fact, she knew very little about their kidnapping and the search for her after. Talking about it, especially around Ron, felt taboo. 

“The aurors took my memories. They wanted to have more information, in order to find you and the death eaters.”

Jane was vaguely aware of this practice, as it was something that Dr Stoica had tried on her. He wanted to see if he could collect her past memories, even if she could not remember them. Of course, like everything else, it did not work. 

“I didn’t want them to take my memories, because I knew what they’d find.” Ron looked guilty all of a sudden, but then his face changed from guilt to the most serious look Jane had ever seen. “I saw them kill you.”

Jane looked at Ron in shock. 

“What do you mean?”, she asked, in panic. How could she have been killed; she was definitely alive. Or so she thought. Could she be some sort of undead, magical zombie? No, Jane reassured herself, someone would have told her if that was the case, and surely she’d feel  _ different _ . 

“My last memory of you, of the old you, was when we were taken to a forest. Now that I think of it, we were probably in Germany. But, I didn’t know that at the time.” Ron was briefly taken out of his story to reflect on this thought, but then he continued. “I was bound and they took you away, just far enough that I could only  _ just _ see you. And a death eater, he performed the killing curse on you.” 

“The  _ killing curse _ ?” That sounded serious; not like something one could just walk away from. Jane thought it could perhaps be like a gun, maybe if pointed in the wrong spot, it wasn’t deadly. “Is that something people normally survive?”.

“No,” he started, “the only person who’s survived it is Harry”.

“ _ Harry?”,  _ Jane asked Ron incredulously. 

“Yeah, but he only survived it because his mum sacrificed herself for him. And I didn’t, I couldn’t...” Ron said as his voice began to break. 

Harry walked into the bedroom looking uncomfortable. As soon as the door opened, Ron and Jane broke their hands apart. 

“Sorry,” Harry said, awkwardly putting a hand through his hair. “Mum made me come back to bed.” 

“It’s alright,” said Jane, standing up, and making sure to avoid eye contact. “I should go to bed as well,” she said while leaving the room. She turned back and looked at Ron. “Goodnight.”

But Jane didn’t go back to Ginny’s room. Instead, she passed it and headed further down the stairs to the loo. When she was there, she shut the door and turned the sink on as sobs racked her body. 

She had never felt so helpless in her life. She wished she could do more for Ron, to  _ be _ more for Ron. But instead, she was just a shell of who she wanted to be. She looked up at herself, silently willing her to remember something, anything, about her past. 

* * *

Jane was disappointed to see that Ron had left for work early, and was gone by the time she came down for breakfast. However, she was pleasantly surprised to find that Ginny was there, in his stead. The women greeted each other, exchanging pleasantries and enjoying Molly’s cooking.

“Hey, Hermione,” Ginny started. “I have a question for you”.

Jane could feel her stomach drop, nervous about what Ginny would ask her. Did she know what Ron told her the night before? Was she angry at all the hurt Jane caused when she was gone? Was she sick of Jane, and wanted her to pack up and leave?

Seeing Jane's discontent, Ginny hurriedly added, “it’s nothing bad!” 

Jane felt the tension in her body release a bit as she nodded Ginny on. 

“It was always the plan, but I didn’t want to scare you off. You know, since you’ve technically only known me for about a week. But, I’ve known you forever and, well, I would just  _ love  _ if you would be my bridesmaid?” Then she added quickly, “it’s okay if you're not comfortable with that, I completely understand either way.”

Jane was taken aback, this was about the last thing she was expecting Ginny to ask her. Even though it had been only a little over a week, she was starting to grow close to Ginny. It was a peculiar situation, but deep down Jane felt honoured to be asked. After all, she’d never been invited to a wedding, let alone to be a bridesmaid. It didn’t take much time for her to accept the offer. 

“Oh that’s fantastic,” Ginny said, clapping her hands together. “We have a final fitting this Wednesday, with me and the bridesmaids. Then, we’re going to go and have afternoon tea, be all  _ posh. _ ”

“Alright,” said Jane, starting to feel excited. “I’ll need to buy a dress then?”

“Oh no, that’s already taken care of,” Ginny said, waving Jane off. 

“Oh, thank you,” Jane responded in surprise. She wondered how long they had been planning for her to be a bridesmaid, without her knowledge. 

* * *

The next two days passed without Jane seeing even a glimpse of Ron. She was beginning to think that he was avoiding her. She wondered if she overstepped her place by comforting him the other night, or if he was uncomfortable with all that he shared with her. But, she didn’t have too much time to dwell on it as she prepped for the day out with Ginny. 

Luna was going to be Ginny’s Maid of Honour and Fleur, Angelina, and Ginny’s Harpies teammate Gemma were her other bridesmaids. Jane was glad that she, at least casually, knew most of the women they were going out with. 

Wednesday morning passed in a flash and soon they headed out. Ginny and Jane met the other women at Diagon Alley and headed towards Madam Malkin’s. Jane wasn’t sure what one wore to a wizard wedding and was pleased when Madam Malkin brought out garment bags with normal-looking dresses in them. The wedding party was the first to try on their dresses, and Jane headed to an open dressing room. 

She eyed her dress before putting it on. It was a deep ruby red, silk, and slinky. It was a simple dress, with a square neckline and a low back, held up by thin straps. The back was a bit more revealing than Jane would typically prefer, but she couldn’t help noticing that she liked what she saw in her reflection. 

Jane came out to see that the other bridesmaids were in the same dress, and Luna was in the same dress, only gold. Ginny had told Jane that her wedding colours were red and gold;  _ Gryffindor colours _ . 

“Oh,” said Ginny, “you look fantastic!”

“Thank you,” responded Jane. They all looked great. Luna’s gold dress brought out her blonde hair and made her look like a golden idol. Fleur always seemed to look great, and this was no exception. The dress seemed to pop the most on Angelina, and it accentuated Gemma’s muscular quidditch arms. 

The women stood on a platform, surrounded by mirrors, as Madam Malkin and her assistants magically fitted their dresses. When they were done, they went to change back into their clothes, and Ginny went to try on her dress. 

Ginny was stunning in her dress. It was a silk sheath dress, low cut in the front. It was mainly white, but there was gold embroidery along the top, making it appear like it was glistening. 

The women  _ oohed _ and  _ aahed  _ over Ginny until Madam Malkin shooed them away; so she could get to work. When they were all done, the five of them headed off to tea. 

* * *

Jane found the tea enjoyable, not only because it was a magical tea and the scones and sandwiches were bewitched to float in the air like synchronized swimmers, but also because she enjoyed the company of the other women. She found their lives so interesting, though honestly, they could have the dullest lives, and Jane wouldn’t care. She was happy to be spending time with others; with friends. 

Gemma and Ginny shared tales about their quidditch escapades; talking about near wins and near misses. Angelina and Fleur swapped stories about raising magical babies. And Luna made sure to quip about strange remedies for croup;  _ three scoops of pixy breath will fix it, _ and other bizarre plants and creatures. Yet, no matter what they talked about, the women made sure to include Jane in their conversations. 

* * *

Jane and Ginny retired to bed early, worn out by the day's festivities. They had gone to bed, but the light was kept on, urging Jane to talk. 

“Thank you for including me in your wedding,” said Jane.

“Of course,” said Ginny. 

“I mean it, you didn’t have to do that. I really appreciate it.” And she did appreciate it. For the first time in her life, Jane felt included and  _ seen.  _ She knew it must be strange for them to have Jane there. As Jane, but not really Hermione. But the fact that they didn't seem to mind, that they seemed to even enjoy her company, made her feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

“Look, Hermione,” Ginny said, facing Jane in her bed. “You were my good friend, and I hope that we can be friends now. It would be weird to not include you.”

Jane gave a half-hearted smile. 

“No, I mean it. I love you, Hermione, we all do. You’re family, no matter what you can remember.”

Jane could feel tears in her eyes. No one had ever told her they loved her, not that she could remember anyway. And she did feel it. She could feel the love from the Weasley’s. They had taken her in, cared for her, in a way that no one ever had. 

“Ron loves you too,” Ginny added. “Even if he’s being a bell-end and ignoring you.”

“You noticed,” Jane said, with a half-laugh, breaking her from her reverie. 

“Yeah. He’ll get over whatever he’s on about soon enough. It’s just”, Ginny’s voice got lower, “he went through a lot when you were gone.”

Jane nodded. Ron had told her a bit of what he went through while she was gone, but she was sure that he hadn't told her the half of it. 

“I was worried, we all were, that he wasn’t going to make it.” Ginny’s voice was now just above a whisper. 

“Was the torture that bad?” Jane could picture it; Ron, barely alive, bruised and bloodied. She shook her head to try and get the image out of her mind. 

“No, well, yes. But after he healed from the physical injuries, he didn’t  _ fully _ recover. It’s like he had no hope, we wondered for the longest time if he had been around a dementor for too long.”

Jane remembered what Harry had told her about dementors.  _ They suck all of the happiness out of you _ . She thought it sounded miserable, and a cruel way to treat anyone, even prisoners. The thought of them attacking Ron made her stomach drop. 

“But then, all of a sudden, he became determined to find you. It took over his life, he didn’t even come to Sunday dinner for the longest time. Even when he lost his job at the aurors.” 

This took Jane by surprise. Ron didn’t mention losing his job as an auror. She wanted to ask more about this, but Ginny continued on. 

“But even with this energy, this focus, he wasn’t him. You couldn’t talk to him without him changing the focus to the last person he interviewed; his last lead. He was wilting away, I don’t think he ate much more than whiskey for dinner. It was terrifying.”

Ginny’s statement lingered in the air, causing both of the women to become lost in thought. This wasn’t the Ron that Jane had seen. Maybe he was doing better? 

“Do you think he’s doing better, now that I’m- somewhat-back?” Jane held on to the hope that she was at least making a little difference with Ron, especially since she was the reason he fell apart. 

“I mean he’s eating, he’s not obsessed with finding you anymore.” Ginny started. “He’s still not himself though. But, there have been times this past week, like when we were playing quidditch or talking about the  _ good old days _ that it seemed like, just for a moment, that he’s back to his old self.”  This made Jane relax a bit. Maybe she could help him to be himself again. In fact, she made a promise to herself. She  _ was  _ going to help him. That was her new plan. 


	10. Chapter 10

Jane wasn’t able to make much progress on her new plan, as Ron was doing everything in his power to avoid her. Wedding prep was in full swing, with two weeks left until the celebration. So, Molly had enlisted the foursome to work every evening. Molly often paired Ron with Jane, but Ron would find any excuse he could to not have to work with her. 

When they did work together, it was especially awkward, as Jane often had to ask Ron for help on the spells she needed to do. He would help her, but avoided eye contact and did his best to seem uninterested in her. It was really starting to bother Jane, and she didn’t know what to do. 

After a week of dealing with despondent Ron, Jane went to Ginny to ask for advice. Ginny reassured Jane that he’d calm down, that he’d get over it. But, Jane was starting to get impatient. How was she supposed to help him heal when he wouldn’t even talk to her?

* * *

Five days before the wedding, it had started to pour. But, nevertheless, Molly insisted that all of the chores needed to be done. After all, guests would be arriving in the next few days. So, she sent Jane and Ron out to the garden to weed the flowers. 

Jane was no longer excited to be paired with Ron. She was tired of being ignored, and not knowing how to change it. She begrudgingly walked out towards the garden with Ron, the rain seeming to emulate her bad mood. 

Molly’s garden nearly covered the perimeter of the burrow. Jane looked at all of the work ahead of them and heaved an exasperated sigh. Forgetting she was a witch, she sank down into the mud and began to pull the weeds.

Ron smirked at Jane's muggle actions. But, much to her surprise, he kneeled beside her and began to also pull the weeds. They both used the weeds as a sort of punching bag, pulling and flinging them aggressively, using the force to let out some of their mutual anger. 

After nearly an hour, they were almost done with the garden plot. They had both calmed down considerably and had fallen into a comfortable routine. Due to the ongoing rain, both Ron and Jane's legs and arms were covered in mud. 

Jane's mind began to drift towards a nice warm bath, sitting by a fire, and enjoying Molly’s much-needed pork pie. But, she was shocked out of her daydreaming when a huge glob of mud sprayed across her face. 

She looked at Ron in indignation, who smirked at her with a crooked smile. Jane was sure that he had done it on purpose, and had missed that he had slipped, accidentally splattering Jane. Without this knowledge, and seeing the pleasure that Ron took in her indignation, Jane scooped up a wad of mud and threw it at Ron. 

She just missed his head; only a small drop of mud landed on his ear. But the fact that she missed didn’t matter; it was _on_. They were now engaged in a full-throttle mud battle. They flung and kicked mud at one another, not content until the other was completely covered in mud. 

In the midst of this raging war, the mud warriors did not notice that Molly had come out to tell them that it was time for dinner. No, it was not until they heard _and what exactly do you think you are doing?_ screeched by Molly that they were broken from their battle. 

Jane turned around hurriedly, feeling like a guilty school child called in to see the headmaster. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, mum,” responded Ron, looking around inconspicuously. He had magicked himself clean. 

Noticing his magical cleanness, Jane scowled at Ron, who cheekily winked back at her. 

“It’s almost time for dinner,” started Molly. “You two better not have done anything to ruin my roses.”

Jane had never seen this side of Molly and was surprised by her tone. She reassured Molly that the flowers were alright.

“Yes, well hurry up and come in for dinner. And Hermione, dear, you better clean up before you come inside.”

The two of them watched as Molly headed back to the burrow. As soon as she was out of sight, Jane turned towards Ron.

“You prick,” she said, playfully hitting his shoulder. “I can’t believe you!”

Ron clutched his shoulder, pretending to be in a great deal of pain, but still looking at Jane with his cheeky smile. 

“Well,” Jane said, “teach me that spell.”

“I thought I was a _prick_ ,” Ron teased. “Why would I help you?” 

Jane gave another scowl as Ron waved his wand over her and magically removed the dirt. They stepped out of the garden and headed towards the burrow, both trying to keep down a smile that crept up their faces. 

* * *

After the fiasco (as Jane referred to it) in the garden, Ron no longer tried to avoid Jane. Instead, he purposely attempted to be paired with her for the household chores. 

* * *

The burrow was beginning to become very full, as the date of the wedding crept up. Charlie was staying in his old bedroom, Percy and Audrey were staying temporarily, to help with the preparation, and Hagrid had come to join them as well (though he stayed in a magically enchanted tent in the yard, as he was too large to safely go up the stairs). 

Jane was shocked to meet Hagrid, even though she had seen pictures of him. He was much larger in person and engulfed her in a crushing hug when he first saw her. He told her through tears how much he missed her, and how much he had hoped she was still alive. He even mentioned that his half-brother (a full giant!) missed her as well. 

After getting over the tears, Hagrid was a fun companion to have around. He was added to Jane's ever-growing list of people whose company she enjoyed. His stories of magical creatures and adventures especially interested Jane. And she could see how passionate he was about his work. He was delighted to find out that she, too, was a professor. They swapped stories about their teaching experience, though the two of them could not have different teaching strategies. 

* * *

It was only two days until the wedding, and the final preparations were being made. Jane was sent out with Harry, Ron, and Percy to set up the outside structures. 

Jane and Ron were working on putting up a wooden pergola, in which Harry and Ginny would be married under. She was on one side, magically placing the slates overhead, as Ron was on the other, reinforcing the legs. 

Jane felt she was starting to get the hang of the spell work to put together the pergola, when, all of a sudden, a slat fell down heading straight towards her head. She screamed and covered her head, hoping that the wooden slat would not fall on her. She stayed in this position, waiting to be knocked out, but the slat never came. Uncovering her head, she saw that Ron was by her side, and the others were running towards them. 

“What happened?”, asked Harry in a panic. 

“I was putting up the slats when one of them fell. I was sure it was going to hit me, but it didn’t.” Jane said, noticing that the offending slat was laying on the ground feet away from her. She turned to Ron. “Did you do that?”, she asked him, pointing towards the slat. 

“No,” he said, looking guilty. “My back was turned, I wasn’t quick enough to stop it. But, Hermione, it was you, I saw you.”

“What do you mean, it was me? I didn’t say any spells.”

“Yeah, but did you think of any?”, asked Harry. 

Jane tried to focus on what she was thinking about when the slat fell. She did recall briefly thinking the spell _protego_ as the slat was falling. Ginny had taught her the spell after Jane had disclosed that she didn’t know any defensive spells. 

“Well, yes, I suppose so,” she said, “but it’s not possible to just _think_ spells, is it?”

“Yeah, it is,” piped Ron. “They’re called nonverbal spells. You were especially good at them at school.” 

“Do you think that’s what I did?” 

“I do,” Ron said with a smile. 

Jane also smiled. It was hard not too, this was another connection that she had with her past self. Maybe she was closer to being Hermione than she realised. 

* * *

The wedding rehearsal had gone off without a hitch. Jane was surprised at how similar muggle and wizarding weddings were, at least from what she knew from movies and books. 

She was paired up to walk down the aisle with Neville. They had struggled to get their walk right, bursting into laughter many times, while trying to _step together, step._ Hannah had had their baby, Alice, only a week before, and Neville couldn’t contain his excitement. He made sure to show anyone who passed him the collection of baby photos he had already amassed. 

Ginny had opted for a night in and a round of quidditch with her bridesmaids (sans Jane) in place of a traditional hen do. Even though the young women attempted to have a calm and relaxing night in, the amount of firewhiskey consumed was as much, if not more, that would have been consumed in a night out. Needless to say, the bridal party woke up on the day of the wedding with nasty hangovers. 

* * *

The women groggily awoke on the day of the wedding, moaning and groaning about their hangovers. Jane was pleased to learn that there was a magical potion that cures hangovers. She downed the thick substance without hesitation. Her headache fizzled away, and her nausea subsided. She was then able to enjoy the beautiful spread that Molly had made for brunch. 

The men in the wedding did not look much better than the women, but after sufficiently magically medicated, everyone chippered up. The wedding party ate with each other, even Harry and Ginny. Jane inquired whether there was the same superstition about grooms seeing their brides on the wedding day in the magical world as there was in the muggle world. Ginny laughed her off, saying there was, but it didn’t count because they weren’t dressed for the wedding. 

Having barely finished her eggs, Molly clapped them away, telling them it was time to get ready. Ginny begrudgingly got off of Harry’s lap (where the couple had been happily whispering sweet nothings and chastely kissing one another) and led the women to her room. 

Ginny’s bedroom had been magically transformed into what Jane could only compare to as a salon. Full-length mirrors lined the walls with chairs placed in front of each. Next to each mirror floated a dress, shoes, and accessories for each of the wedding party. 

Fleur enlisted her sister Gabriella and her mother to help with the women’s hair and beauty spells. Jane was thankful for the help. She had only recently stopped straightening her hair and had no idea how to tame it. She also barely wore makeup and had no clue on how to do cosmetic spells. 

Gabriella not only tamed Jane's hair but made it look _good_. It was half up, half down, with a few, perfect curls falling to frame her face. Gabriella gave Jane light make up, that accentuated her features, and golden eyeshadow. She even turned her tattoo gold (temporarily) to fit in with the colour scheme of the wedding. 

The women finished the final touches on their looks and got into their gowns. Jane waited to put on her heels, as she knew she was going to be in them for a while.

After being ready for a good thirty minutes, without anything to do, the women were starting to grow bored. So Fleur sent Jane, Gemma, and Angelina to get the groomsmen and help to seat the arriving guests. Ginny moaned that she wanted to do something as well, but was reminded that she had to wait to be _revealed._

The women headed towards Ron’s room to check on the men. Jane knocked on the door and announced herself. George opened the door and was lost in the sight of Angelina. He went over to her and the two exchanged flirty compliments. 

Next to the door was Ron, looking awestruck. 

“Wow,” he said, looking Jane up and down. “You look gorgeous.” The words spilled out of his mouth quickly, and it seemed to take him a minute to realise what he had said. 

Jane blushed, but replied with “you don’t look so bad yourself.” 

And he didn’t. He had yet to put on his dress robes and was currently wearing a gold waistcoat over a white dress shirt and trousers. Jane could clearly see the outline of his muscular arms under the thin fabric of his shirt. She caught herself, hoping he didn’t notice her staring. 

Jane corralled Neville, George, and Bill to help the women seat the guests. Ron stayed with Harry and tried to keep him level-headed. 

Seating the guests wasn’t very difficult, and likely didn’t require all six of them, but Jane was happy to have something to do. Many of the guests knew Hermione, but thankfully were aware of her predicament, and didn’t ask too many questions.

When Jane went to seat the Weasley’s Auntie Muriel, her eyes caught at a section of seats partitioned off. After seating the ever insulting Auntie Muriel, Jane went to look further at the partitioned seats. There was a sign which read, _For who could not be here in life but are here in spirit_. Jane looked closer and saw a line of magical pictures. She recognized some of the people in the photos; there was Fred, who looked exactly like George, but with two ears. There was a couple holding a baby and Jane could tell that they were Harry’s parents, as the dad looked almost exactly like him, and the mum had his eyes. 

She went down the line, examining each photo. There was a young boy holding an old fashioned camera, another couple holding a baby, the mum with bright pink hair and the father looking worse for wear, a dark and handsome young man standing with Harry’s father, an old man with a long white beard and half-moon spectacles, an older photo of a couple of red-headed brothers. 

She had made it down the line of photographs and was staring at the last in the lineup. It was the only non-magical photo, and Jane could instantly recognize who the subjects were. It was a photo of her parents, looking gleefully towards the camera, with a young, bushy-haired Hermione in their arms. Jane felt close to tears, she was honoured that Harry and Ginny would include them in their wedding, but also felt a deep ache of loss, looking at her parents. Jane's thoughts were interrupted, however, when a guest came up to her, asking about the loo. 

* * *

Soon it was time for the wedding to start, so Jane and the others in the wedding party left the tent and got in their places. 

Harry was first to walk in and was currently pacing at the mouth of the tent. Ron was reminding him that he’d basically been married to Ginny for years and this was just a formality. This seemed to calm Harry down, as he stopped pacing, and instead just fidgeted in place. Soon, the music began to play, and Harry headed into the tent. 

Outside of the tent, Molly and Ginny exited the burrow and took their places with Arthur at the end of the procession. Molly periodically dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. 

Neville and Jane were the next ones to enter. They hooked arms and reminded each other _step together, step,_ before entering the tent. Everyone’s eyes were on the two of them, and Jane began to feel uncomfortable. Neville must have sensed this as he gave her arm a small squeeze. Feeling better, Jane made it to her position, giving a big smile to Harry, who was still looking like a nervous little boy. 

Two by two, the rest of the wedding party entered. Ron and Luna were headed in last, and Jane felt a sudden pang of jealousy towards Luna. For a brief moment, she imagined herself walking arm in arm with Ron. She shook away this thought, _it was absurd_ and tried to focus on the ceremony. 

Ron arrived next to Harry and gave his shoulder a squeeze. Jane couldn’t help but think she saw him give her a wink as well. 

Teddy was next, making the room give a collective _aww_ , as he carefully walked down the aisle with the ring on a pillow. When he made it to Harry, his hair changed from a light blonde to a dark brown, with a small scar showing up across his forehead. As soon as the officiant took the pillow, Teddy ran and gave Harry a big hug, nearly overwhelming the audience with cuteness. 

As Teddy was ushered to his seat, Victoire came through with a basket full of flower petals. She had run out of her petals only halfway down the aisle, having taken large clumps at a time and carefully placing them on the ground. Realizing her predicament, the toddler fell to the ground giving a big howl. Fleur left her place on the podium and went to comfort her child. 

Getting Victoire to settle down, and placing her with her grandmum, it was now time for Ginny to enter. Organ music began to play, as everyone stood, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the bride. 

Ginny walked in with her mum on one arm and her dad on the other. Molly had stopped crying (for the moment) and was standing up extra straight, walking with her daughter. Arthur also looked especially proud, smiling, and nodding to each guest he passed. 

Ginny looked as if she was glowing. Jane thought for a moment that it was due to the magical embroidery on the bride’s dress, but she soon realized that that wasn’t it. Ginny had on a great, big smile that illuminated her. Looking at Harry, Jane noticed that he also had an ecstatic grin. 

The ceremony had most of the guests in tears. Jane couldn’t help but feel teary as well. She knew that she had only known the couple for a month, but she could feel the love that they radiated. She wondered if she would ever have something so powerful. 

Soon the proceedings were over, and the married couple was finally able to kiss one another. After about a minute, George gave a wolf-whistle, causing the couple to tear apart with a laugh. Much to Jane's surprise, instead of the couple walking back down the aisle, the guests were asked to stand, and the tent was magically changed from a ceremony venue to a reception venue. 


	11. Chapter 11

They had just finished their dinner and it had been magically cleared from the table. Jane had spent the dinner talking with Neville (he had dozens of new baby photos to show her, from the last day alone) and the others in the party. A dance floor had been magicked into the centre of the tent, and the music changed from classical to pop. 

“Ooh, this is my favourite song,” Angelina said, standing to dance. She offered her hand to George, but he shook his head, having had a bit too much to drink to stand steadily. “Hermione”, she asked, “care to join me?” 

Jane was not a dancer and wasn’t planning on stepping foot on the dance floor. But, she felt like she couldn’t protest, so she stood and followed Angelina to a corner of the dance floor. Thankfully, there were many people dancing, and Jane tried to blend in with the mass of people. Angelina, however, had other plans. She began dancing wildly, lifting her hands over her head, slightly off beat. Angelina smiled at Jane, and Jane realised she was doing this on purpose. Jane let out a laugh, enjoying watching Angelina's show. Soon, she began to feel more comfortable and started to dance, while still laughing at Angelina's antics. Luna joined the pair, dancing just as wildly as Angelina. Jane thought perhaps that was just Luna’s dancing style. The women danced to a few songs, caught up in laughter for a good portion of the dancing. 

Jane dismissed herself, feeling an aching in her arches and walked back to her seat. She took off her heels in the process and rubbed her feet, wondering if there was a spell that could help with the pain. 

“Careful,” Ron said, coming up to the table and holding a butterbeer in one hand. “Last time you took off your shoes at a wedding, the ministry fell.”

“Oh,” Jane responded. She looked around playfully, as if to look for anything off, and announced “I think it’s all clear.”

“Yeah,” Ron said while taking a seat across from Jane. “Kingsley was here for the ceremony, so I’m sure everything’s alright,” he said with a smile. 

“Kingsley?”, Jane asked. “You mean the Prime Minister?”

“Yeah,” Ron said with a chuckle. “The Minister of Magic. I’m actually surprised he hasn’t talked to you yet, about everything”.

“Well maybe he knows that I’m a pretty useless informant,” Jane said dryly. 

The air was still as they both took sips from their drinks. Jane watched the dancers on the dance floor, noticing that Angelina had finally convinced George to join her, though he looked like he’d topple over at any second. 

“I saw the memorial,” Jane started, changing the subject. “It was very nice to include my parents,” she looked meaningfully into Ron’s eyes. 

“That was all Harry,” he said. “It was his idea to include them. He figured that if, you know,  _ everything  _ hadn’t happened, then we all would have gotten to know them better.”

Jane nodded, staring into her mostly empty champagne flute. “I hadn’t seen that photo before.”

“Yeah, well,” Ron began stammering. “After what happened, happened a few of us went to check on your family's home. The death eaters destroyed it,” he looked into Jane's eyes, “I’m sorry Hermione.”

She shook her head, urging him on. 

“Anyway, it was one of the few things that I recovered.”

The pair were silent again, Jane thinking about Ron having had kept the photo of her and her family all of this time. 

“Youwanttodance?”, Ron blurted.

Jane looked up at him, noticing a blush creep up his ears. 

“If you think your feet can handle it,” Ron added with a smirk, composing himself. 

“Alright,” Jane said with a small smile. She put her heels back on and took Ron’s hand as he led her to the dance floor. 

Right as they made it to the dance floor, the music changed to a slow, romantic song.  _ Of course, _ Jane thought. 

She took Ron’s hand and placed her other on his shoulder. He placed his hand on her back which, because of the low cut of her dress, meant that he was touching her skin. She felt goose pimples move up her back as the two of them began awkwardly stepping back and forth. 

Jane willed her brain to come up with something, anything to say to try and break the awkwardness, but her mind was completely blank. 

“So, er, have you been to any weddings before?”, Ron asked, apparently trying to do the same thing Jane was. 

“Erm, no,” Jane said, stopping the conversation from going any further. 

“Oh”.

“Have you?”, Jane asked maybe a bit too eagerly, happy that the conversation could continue. 

“Yeah, loads”.

Jane waited for him to expand, but he didn’t. Instead, he stared off over her head. But, she had finally thought of something to say. 

“So how does it feel,” she started, “to have your best mate marry your little sister?” 

She knew this was a taunting question, but she was desperate for something to keep her mind off of his hand; his big, warm hand, that was spread across her lower back. 

Ron gave a chuckle. “Well, I’m sorta used to them now. I was peeved at first. But, well they’re good for each other, you know?” 

Jane nodded. “I never really understood that rule,  _ don't date your mate’s sisters _ . If you can’t trust your mate with your sister, then why are they your mate?”

Ron gave Jane an agreeing smile. He lifted their hands and got Jane to twirl. Jane rested more comfortably back into Ron’s arms when she returned from her spin. 

“They seem really happy,” she said, looking over at the newlyweds dancing in the middle of the floor. 

“They are,” Ron said. “You know they waited for you?”

“What?”, asked Jane, not sure what Ron was talking about. 

“You didn’t think it was a little too coincidental that they didn’t set the date for their wedding until you showed up?”

Jane looked at Ron in surprise, stopping dancing. She was not aware that they had set the date after she was found. 

“They’ve been engaged for three years,” Ron added. 

Jane hadn’t thought too closely about this fact, and she certainly didn’t think that she had anything to do with it. 

“Even when you were declared dead, even when they held a wake for you, he refused to set a date. He wanted you to be here.”

Jane was staring at the ground, completely forgoing the pretense of dancing. How many people’s lives were altered because of her? How many were ruined? She should feel loved, appreciated that Harry postponed his wedding, instead she felt guilty. After all,  _ she  _ wasn’t really here, was she?

“Sorry,” Ron said. “Was that too much?”

“It’s a lot,” Jane said, looking up. Ron gave her his signature crooked smile, and she couldn’t help but smile back. “Though, I’m glad you told me.”

The music had stopped, so Ron and Jane headed back to the table. Ron was stopped by someone for some reason or another, so Jane sat by herself. 

Neville found her a moment later, explaining that he was headed out. Jane gave him a kiss and wished him and Hannah good luck, and to send her more photos when they could. 

More and more people began to exit, leaving only a few couples on the dance floor with the newlyweds. Jane sipped on her second (or was it her third?) glass of champagne and vaguely watched the other party-goers. She felt slightly lightheaded, in the way that one is when they’ve had a bit too much to drink, but not enough to be drunk. 

The tent was nearly empty now, with only a few clusters of people left. Which included Charlie and Hagrid singing drinking songs in the corner. Jane got up, feeling like it was time for her to go as well. 

As she exited the tent and headed towards the burrow, only to run into Ron. He was standing near the entrance as if he was waiting for someone. 

“Care for a walk?”, he asked her. 

“Oh,” Jane said in surprise. “Alright.”

She followed Ron towards the edge of the burrow, but not before taking off her heels and holding them in one hand. 

They walked side by side for what felt like an eternity. They were walking just close enough so that their knuckles gently brushed each other’s every so often. Jane was especially aware of each breath she took and how her heart seemed to be pounding a bit too fast.

However, she also felt especially calm. She wondered if it was due to the alcohol, or the relaxing summer night. She looked up at Ron, and thought, perhaps, he was the reason she felt so at peace. 

“I haven’t been completely truthful,” she said quietly. “I do remember some things from before.”

Ron stopped in his tracks and turned urgently to face her. She faced him back and continued on. 

“Well, I have dreams of flashing lights. I know now they are spells being cast, but I’ve dreamt about them since I was found.”

Ron looked at her, looking slightly disappointed. 

“And I dream about something else. Whenever I would dream about it I would feel calm, peaceful. It didn’t matter if I was having a nightmare, if I was terrified, whenever I dreamed about it, I knew I was safe.”

Ron’s face changed from disappointment to confusion. But, he let her continue on. 

“I also didn’t know what it was, until recently,” she said, taking a deep breath. “It’s a beautiful, calming blue. The blue of your eyes. I remembered your eyes.” She looked up at Ron, unable to read his facial expression. 

Before Jane could come to terms with all that she had said, Ron had taken her face in his hands, pressing his lips against hers in a passionate kiss. 


	12. Chapter 12

June 4th, 1998

Hermione was lounging on the sofa, enjoying her 5th reread of  _ Les Miserables _ when Ron interrupted her. 

“Hey, I want to ask you something,” he said, while motioning his head towards the kitchen, indicating that he wanted to talk to her in private.

Hermione looked around at the others, who were pretending not to be eavesdropping on their conversation. 

“Oh, alright,” she said, placing a bookmark in her book and following him into the kitchen. 

“Is everything okay?”, she asked, feeling slightly concerned. With all that had happened in the last year or so, anything could be wrong. Perhaps something was wrong with their plans to go to Australia next week to retrieve her parents? The two of them had been planning their trip since the end of the war, but with the funerals, clean up, and recovery, it was taking a bit longer than Hermione would have liked. They had finally talked with Kingsley and made arrangements to portkey to Sydney next week. They had located her parents, knew their jobs, and their daily schedule. Hermione had even seen pictures of their home from a listing from the previous year. Their plan was solid, or so she hoped. 

“Yeah”, Ron said reassuringly. “Everything’s fine, everything’s great!”, he said, a bit too excitedly. “It’s just, I’ve been thinking, and well we haven’t been on a proper date, have we?”

Hermione thought his statement over. He was right; they hadn’t. It’s hard to build a normal relationship in the midst of war. In fact, they had done everything backwards. They had professed their love, kissed, even made love, but they had not been on anything that resembled a proper date. 

“I thought we should go on one,” he said. 

“Alright,” she responded with a smile. “What should we do?” She unconsciously began fiddling with her hair and stepped closer to Ron. 

“Oh, I’ve already got it planned.” 

“Really?”, Hermione asked with curiosity, trying to think of when he had time to plan a date.

“Always the tone of surprise,” he said with a smirk. 

Hermione smiled back. “What’s the plan?”, she asked. 

“It’s a surprise, just be ready tomorrow at 5.”

“Oh”. Ron had really piqued her interest now. “Well, can you at least tell me what I should wear?”

Ron bent over slightly, leaning over so that he was face to face with Hermione. “Well,” he said cheekily, “ _ I  _ would prefer that you don’t wear anything.”

Hermione playfully slapped him on the shoulder, glad that no one could hear them. 

“What I mean is, what should I prepare for? Is it going to be hot, cold? Should I wear, I don’t know, hiking boots?”

“Well it’s June,” Ron said matter-of-factly. “So it might be a bit chilly. And we won’t be hiking. Does that help?”

“Yes”, Hermione responded, it hadn’t really helped, but she figured this was all that she was going to get out of him. “5?”, she asked, starting to feel butterflies in her stomach. 

* * *

It took forever for it to be time for Hermione to get ready for her date. She had anxiously waited until the clock struck 4, so she could go up to Ginny’s room to prepare. After looking through her closet, but still being completely unaware of what to wear, she had Ginny talk to Harry (covertly, of course) to figure out how dressed up she should get. Ginny informed Hermione that Ron was wearing a nice button-up and trousers, so she decided on a white sundress, flats, and a light jumper (kept in her beaded bag, of course). When she walked down the burrow’s stairs at exactly 5 o’clock, she spotted Mrs. Weasley and Ron in the kitchen talking in hushed, but firm, tones.

“And you’ll be extra careful?” Mrs. Weasley asked. “There are still death eaters out there.”

“Yes, mum, I know”, he responded sounding exasperated. “We’re only going to be in a muggle village, which I’ve already told you. We'll be fine. Plus we’re going to Australia next week, and if Kingsley thinks we’re safe enough to do that, then dinner in a muggle village is nothing.”

Mrs. Weasley had one hand on her hip, looking concerned. 

“You’ll apparate back if anything seems off?”, she asked. 

“Yes, mum.”

“And you’ll be back by 10?”

“11,” Ron stated, surprising Hermione in his firmness. After all, what were they going to do for six hours?

“Oh you look lovely, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, having just noticed Hermione lurking near the stairs. 

Ron turned around, looking Hermione up and down, looking awestruck. 

“Yeah,” was all he was able to muster. 

Hermione smiled to herself at Ron’s newfound wordlessness. She took his hand in hers and they walked to the perimeter of the burrow’s wards. But, not before Mrs. Weasley gave them another warning. It had been over a month since the battle of Hogwarts, and not a single missing death eater had shown their face. Ron was right; they would be fine. 

* * *

Ron apparated the pair into a small alley. 

“Lovely,” Hermione said, having landed in a bit of rubbish. 

Ron shrugged in apology and magicked the rubbish off of her shoes, then led her out of the alley. 

As soon as they were out of the alley, Hermione was hit with the smell of sea air. They were standing next to a line of quaint pastel-coloured shops with cobblestone paths that led directly to the sea. She looked up at Ron,  _ this  _ was lovely. 

“It’s Clovelly, Devon. My family came here on holiday when I was little. Have you been?”

“No, I haven’t.” 

“Right, well. I was thinking we could walk around for a bit, maybe go to the beach. Then we’ve got dinner reservations at 6, and a boat cruise at 8.”

Hermione looked at Ron in shock. She was not prepared for him to have so thoroughly planned their evening. And it sounded so nice. 

“Er- is that alright?”, he asked Hermione, apparently mistaking her surprised silence for discontent. 

“Yes, Ron,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “It sounds perfect,” she said before kissing him. 

* * *

They spent the next hour window shopping, with Hermione having to explain to Ron many of the items they saw. While trying to explain what the purpose of a fortune teller machine was, and how it worked without magic, they realised it was time to head to their dinner reservation. Ron led Hermione across the beach to an Italian restaurant overlooking the ocean. They were seated on the edge of the deck, with a perfect view of the sunset. 

“This is beautiful,” Hermione said, looking at the sunset and holding Ron’s hand. 

“You’re beautiful,” Ron said. 

Hermione would normally roll her eyes at a comment like this, but she was just too happy. 

They ordered their food, with Hermione helping Ron with his pronunciation of  _ puttanesca.  _ They watched the sunset while finishing their dinners, sipping on their wine and savouring each other's company. 

When the cheque came, Ron surprised Hermione once again, by having muggle money and knowing how to use it.  _ Harry helped me _ , he explained. Hermione wondered, again, how long Ron had been planning this outing. She offered to at least pay for her half, but he waved her off. She agreed to let him pay for this one, as long as she could pay for the next. She was going to have to do a lot of planning to top this date, and it wasn’t even halfway done. 

They still had some time until their cruise, so they stayed for a bit longer. The day had faded to night, and they could only see one another through the twinkling of fairy lights. They could hear the waves crashing in the distance, a calming lull overtaking the pair. 

Their peace was broken, however, when an owl flew by, swooping over them and dropping a letter on their table. Other guests around them were shocked by this sudden appearance of an owl, and so close to the restaurant-goers. But Hermione was not distracted by the ruckus, as she noticed the Ministry of Magic emblem on the envelope. 

She went to open the letter, and Ron took her other hand, looking concerned. 

_ Dear Hermione and Ron, _

_ There has been trouble with Hermione's parents. I have included a portkey that leaves at 7:25. You both need to take it.  _

_ Kingsley _

Hermione noticed that there was a tiny key folded in the letter. She picked it up, as Ron took the letter, still holding on to her hand. She went to check her watch; it was 7:24. She opened her mouth to speak to Ron, to try and figure out what was happening, but before she could utter a word, the pair were spinning into space.

* * *

They landed with a thud, in what looked to be a sitting room. It was dark, and they could barely see each other. They immediately had their wands out and moved to be back to back. 

“What’s going on?”, Ron whispered into Hermione's ear. 

“I don’t know,” Hermione responded, also whispering. “Did you see the letter? It said that something was wrong with my parents. Though why Kingsley wouldn’t tell us himself or at least send someone, I don’t know. And we apparated in front of muggles!” Something was very wrong about this, Hermione felt the sudden urge to get out. 

“Let’s get out of here,” she said frantically. 

“Yeah,” he responded, as the two of them made their way to what they hoped was the door. “Do you have any idea where we are?” 

Hermione tried to look around more carefully. She did recognise this house, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She glanced over to the sofa facing away from them and realized that there were people sitting on it. She felt a chill pass over her. She  _ did _ know where they were; it was her parents' Australia home. The one she had seen in the listing, and it looked like they were sitting on the sofa just feet away from them. 

She felt sick to her stomach. Something was very wrong. The whole atmosphere was eerie. She wanted to run to her parents, to reverse their memories and rush into their arms. But something was telling her not too. They were too quiet, too still. She hoped desperately that they were just sound asleep, after all, it must be late in Australia. Or was it early? 

Trying not to think too hard, Hermione changed course, heading toward the sofa. 

“Hermione,” Ron said urgently, as her back left his. 

“Look”, she said, using her head to point to the people on the sofa. “My parents.” 

Ron’s face was drained of its blood, also aware that something was very wrong. He grabbed Hermione's free hand and followed her carefully to the front of the sofa. 

It took a minute for Hermione's eyes to adjust on her parent’s form. But as soon as she did, she knew. They were dead. Their eyes were open, but glassed over. To Hermione's horror, they both had their throats slashed. Before she could react properly, a hand was over her mouth, and one around her body, apparating her through space. In the shock, her hand let go of Ron’s. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: blood, death, injuries, suicide idealation   
> Just a note on the CW’s for this and the upcoming chapters. I will give a summary of the next few chapters when they are over, for those who want to avoid any possible triggers. Note that I am not a graphic writer, but I understand that it can still be difficult. So, if you need to skip the next few chapters (all of which will have cws), I’ve got you. 
> 
> ~Dot

June 6th, 1998

Hermione was thrown to the ground; ties magically wrapping themselves around her mouth, wrist, and ankles. She was in a dark and unbearably musty room; the only light was that of wands shining. She violently turned her head, trying to find Ron. Relieved, she could just make out his fiery red hair. Was she relieved? Wouldn’t it be better if he had escaped? She wasn’t able to focus on her mixed feelings about seeing Ron; she was too overwhelmed by all that was happening. 

Squinting her eyes, she looked carefully at the figures hovering above the pair.  _ Death eaters. _ They had on the unmistakable silver masks that hid their identities but proved their alliance. If she wasn’t already panicking, she definitely was now. 

She tried to figure out what they were doing. They were talking amongst themselves, some having to duck due to the low curved ceiling. She tried to make out what they were saying, but couldn’t concentrate. She needed to be closer to Ron, to know that he was okay. 

Hermione tried to move closer to Ron, rocking from one side to the other in her attempt. But, a death eater noticed and waved his wand at her. She was quickly dragged by her wrapped wrists to the end of the room, the wrappings sticking to the wall. As she was being dragged, her calves ran across the uneven cobblestone ground, causing large, painful gashes to appear. 

She felt a panic rising from her stomach. It was getting harder to breathe, especially with the cloth in her mouth. She did her best to calm herself, trying to focus on getting out. She looked around the room. It was small, with a curved ceiling. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all stone. She figured they were in a kind of cellar. One that hasn’t been used recently, considering the dust, webs, and musty smell. She tried to look for a way out. There were no windows, only one door at the far end of the cellar. It was their only escape. 

As she was trying to think of an escape plan, she was once again magically dragged by her wrists to the centre wall of the cellar, this time next to Ron. Her calves stung and burned, but she could barely feel them over the adrenaline and panic. 

One of the death eaters magicked light into the room. After adjusting from the sudden light, Hermione was able to count the death eaters. There were eight of them, all in masks, all glaring at the pair. 

“They look too  _ clean.”,  _ one of the death eaters spat.

As soon as he uttered his words, Hermione felt a slash across her face, now bleeding from her cheek. She heard a grunt from Ron and tried her best to look over at him. His head was unnaturally leaning back against the wall, and Hermione could see blood coming from his head. 

The death eaters shuffled around, and Hermione drew her attention back to them. One of them had taken something out of his pocket. Hermione thought it looked like a camera. Why would the death eaters need a camera? With a flash, their picture was taken and the death eaters began to leave. The last death eater waited around for a moment after the rest and turned to the pair.

“Don’t scream,” he warned. 

Hermione was terrified of what he was going to do. But instead of pain, the cloths around her wrists, ankles, and mouth disappeared. As she looked up, she noticed that the last death eater had also disappeared. 

She instinctively reached out to Ron, who held her in an embrace. 

“Are you okay?”, he asked, gently touching her face under her cut. 

“I’m alright,” she said, taking his hand in hers. She remembered his bleeding head and looked up at him.

“Are you?” she asked, moving her hands up to his head. 

“Yeah,” he said, reaching up to his eye. “One of them hit me with a knockback jinx.”

“Lean forward, you’re bleeding,” she said, wanting to inspect his head. 

He nodded his head down and allowed her to check him. He was bleeding, but it seemed superficial. She couldn’t see bone or anything broken. She tore a clean piece of fabric off of her dress and pressed it into his injury. He placed his hand over hers and lifted his head up. 

“You’re bleeding too,” he said motioning to her face and her legs. 

“I’m really alright,” she said, taking her hand off of Ron’s head and rubbing her arm over her cut. It was a bad idea, as it made her cut begin to throb. But, that didn’t matter. Her legs didn’t matter. What mattered was figuring out where they were, why they were here, and how they were going to get out. 

She stood up and began to pace. They were being held by death eaters. How could they have been so stupid? They fell right into their trap. 

She couldn’t think about that right now; she needed to focus. 

“We’re being held by eight death eaters,” she stated. 

“At least,” Ron replied, causing Hermione to pause. He’s right, there could be more. 

“Who all is still on the run?”, she asked. “What did they tell you at orientation?” 

Ron and Harry had gone to auror orientation not a week earlier, in preparation for them to start in July. 

“Erm, they didn’t talk specifically about who was left, but we can figure it out.”

They went over what they knew about the death eaters; Bellatrix, Gibbon, and Greyback had died at the Battle of Hogwarts. The Carrows, Dolohov, Yaxley, Rodolphus Lestrange, Mulciber, and Avery Jr. were in Azkaban. They could come up with seven death eaters that were still on the run; Rookwood, Crabbe sr., Rabastan Lestrange, Selwyn, Rowle, and Macnair. They tried to remember if they could recognise any of the death eaters that took them, but it had all happened so fast. It had been a blur. 

“And then there was the letter and the portkey”, Hermione went on. “Do we think Kingsley’s involved?”

“Absolutely not,” Ron said firmly.

“Well, it had to be someone who knew about our plan and my parents.”  _ Her parents _ . Hermione sat down next to Ron. They couldn’t really be dead. It must have been an illusion. They  _ had _ to be fine. 

Hermione felt her breathing becoming shallow once again. Ron folded his arms around her and gently kissed her head. 

“We’ll figure this out, we’ll be okay,” he reassured. 

Hermione didn’t feel as hopeful, but she continued on. 

“Someone close to Kingsley, someone who knew our plan, must be involved.”

“Or imperiused,” Ron added. 

“Yes.” Though how likely would it be for an imperiused worker to be in the Ministry, especially with all of the new regulations? Her mind shifted from Kingsley to their last moments in Devon. “I’m sure there will be ministry workers all over where we apparated. And I dropped the letter, so they should figure out it was us.” Hermione wondered how long it would take for them to figure out that they were missing. Was it even time for them to be home yet? She checked her watch, but it was broken. She wondered if anyone was aware they were gone yet. 

“If they read the note, then they’ll know we were in Australia,” Ron added. 

Ron was right. They would have a lead. They would find her parents. But then what? Ron and she could be anywhere. They could literally be next door to the burrow, and no one would know. 

“Where do you think we are?”, Ron asked, apparently thinking along the same lines as her. 

“I don’t know. But, we seem to be in a cellar of sorts.”

“Yeah.” Ron was lost in thought. “Why do you think they took our picture?” 

This was a good question. Hermione hadn’t given herself time to think about the photograph. Why would they take their picture? She tried to think about everything she had read; any detail that could help her. Then it came to her; in modern murder mysteries, kidnappers would take pictures of their victims for ransom.

Hermione told Ron her theory, and he agreed it made sense. But, they couldn’t figure out exactly why. Did they want their Order of Merlin winnings? But then why kidnap the only people who could get into their vaults? Maybe it had to do with the war? Did they want revenge? But then why would they need a ransom? Plus, they were undesirable number 2 and 3, wouldn’t they want number 1? Or was this a ploy to get Harry?

It felt like they had been talking in circles for hours when the cellar door slammed open. Hermione squeezed Ron’s hand, but it was no matter, as they were quickly tied up and back on the wall. The same death eater that had untied them earlier (Hermione could recognise him because he was the smallest, and had a tuft of brown hair that stuck up over his mask) walked in, followed by three burlier death eaters. 

They seemed to be arguing about something, but Hermione couldn’t make out what they were saying. Finally, they moved closer. One of the burly death eaters walked entirely too close to Hermione, making her retract her legs as best she could. With a wave of his wand, he magicked his mask away. 

She instantly recognised him. He was Crabbe Sr. Her stomach sank, not only because of his evil smirk and noxious breath but also because he took his mask off. From her readings, it was never a good sign when a kidnapper decided to show their face. 

He motioned to the smaller death eater.

“Untie her,” Crabbe Sr. ordered. Hermione found it strange that he did not do it himself, as he had his wand in his hand. 

When she was free of her bondage, Crabbe stuck his face inches away from her, and gave the most revolting smile, Hermione thought that she might actually be sick. 

“I like it when they try to fight.” 

* * *

_ They had gone _ . Hermione attempted to get up, to get to Ron. But every inch of her body screamed when she tried. She turned her head back to look at Ron. He was still attached to the wall, having been used by the death eaters as a punching bag of sorts. She had to go to him. She needed to make sure he was okay. 

Mustering all of her remaining energy, she crawled towards his form. He was unconscious and huddled over, bent in unnatural shapes. She sat up, using his body to help her, and put a finger on his pulse point. In the moments she anxiously awaited his heartbeat, her own heart stopped in anticipation. She willed him to be alive. He  _ had  _ to be. With a sigh of relief, she felt his pulse; weak and unsteady, but there. She looked down and saw his chest rise and fall. He was breathing. 

The door of the cellar opened, and Hermione barely reacted. She didn’t think anything could scare her after what she had just experienced. She glanced over, it was the smaller death eater with the brown hair. He cautiously walked over and placed a water basin and a roll of dressings near the pair, like a caretaker bringing food to a scared street dog. Hermione stared at him, not sure of what to expect, but not about to let go of Ron. 

He turned to walk away, but Hermione stopped him. 

“I can’t help him, if he’s still tied up,” Hermione's voice surprised her, it was raspy from the screaming that had just taken place. But what surprised her more was the firmness in her voice. 

The death eater did not turn around, but he waved his wand, releasing Ron of his bondages, causing Ron to slump forward on to Hermione. 

Hermione gently moved Ron off of her and laid him on the cold, stone floor. She reached for the water, instinctively taking a painful, burning sip.

The death eaters had left the lights on, and Hermione gave Ron a closer look. He was bleeding from what seemed to be most of his body; big, blue bruises already starting to appear. 

She tried to go over what she had learned in the first-aid class she had taken so long ago. She went to check his head first. He had a black eye, and the cloth on the back of his head had long fallen off. It was no longer actively bleeding, so she moved down. She could see blood pouring from his chest, staining his light blue pin-striped button up. She ripped open his shirt, not caring about unbuttoning it carefully. 

His chest was covered in blood, so she ripped off a piece of dressing and dipped it in the water, carefully sopping the blood away. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She knew if he were awake, this would be causing a great deal of pain. She didn’t care that it was strange to be talking to an unconscious man. 

Able to see better, she noticed that there was a large gash on his ribs. She placed the dressing over the damage and felt something protruding. Her heart sank,  _ was that bone? _ The discovery of this gruesome injury made Hermione become suddenly aware of their situation. 

This has to be some kind of twisted nightmare. One of her night terrors that she just wasn’t waking up from. She tried to will herself to wake up, but only became more attune to her pain. 

Her body was on fire. She looked down, her white dress now a tie-dye mix of red and pink. Was that Ron’s blood or her own? She suddenly became aware that her hands and feet were tingling, barely able to feel sensations. Her breathing became weaker, it felt as though she still had the cloth tied around her mouth. She placed her head into Ron’s stomach, careful not to lie on his wounds, as she slowly faded out of consciousness. 

* * *

Hermione awoke unpleasantly, feeling as though a bucket of cold water had been poured on her. She was once again tied up and affixed to the wall. Though this time her mouth was left untied. 

Even with the sudden awakening, she was having trouble fully waking up. She was aware that one of the death eaters was saying something, but she couldn’t quite understand him. Before she could give it much thought, she was hit with a crucio curse. 

Recovering from the curse seemed to take forever, and the death eater was talking again. She realised he was talking to her. 

“I’m not going to ask again; state your name and the date.”

Hermione's brain was still foggy, but she tried to concentrate on what was being said. They wanted her name and the date.  _ The date _ . She had no idea what day it was. It felt like years ago when she was last at the burrow, safe and sound. 

She suddenly remembered Ron and her last happy moments, enjoying the crash of waves as they held hands and talked about nothing of much importance. She could feel herself in the ocean, floating, floating away. 

Suddenly, and sadly, she was torn away from her reverie. She had to focus on what was happening now. 

“I don’t know the date,” she croaked, struggling to talk with the dryness in her throat. 

“It’s June 7th,” said a different death eater. 

June 7th, that means it had only been two days since they were taken. How could that be possible? Hermione looked at the death eaters, having finally broken out of her fog. 

There were only a few of them, with one holding a camera. This time it glowed a bright yellow, having been magically altered. 

“My name is Hermione Granger,” she said, looking directly into the camera. She wished desperately that she had learned Morse code, or could do something to communicate with whoever the recipient was. Though, what could she say? She didn’t know where they were being held. She didn’t have any important information to relay. “Today is the 7th of June.”

The camera stopped glowing, and the death eaters began to file out. Hermione was grateful that they weren’t staying. Maybe they knew that the pair couldn’t handle much more? The door shut, leaving Ron and Hermione still in their restraints. 

She looked over at Ron. He was still unconscious and hadn’t participated in whatever Hermione had just done. She called out to him, but he didn’t waver. She knew he wouldn’t, but she had to try. She looked down at her legs and noticed that they had been cleaned and bandaged, but still stung as much as ever. 

Hermione looked around. She had never felt so alone in her life. She didn’t know what to do; cry, scream, puke? It wouldn’t make a difference. There was nothing that the two of them could do. They had to wait. 

She knew that there would be tons of people searching for them, with Harry and Mrs. Weasley at the head. Would they find them in time? Hermione pictured them rushing into the cellar, anxious to rescue the pair. Only to find their bodies piled on each other; long dead. 

There had been times that Hermione felt that that was a better alternative to what they were experiencing; to be dead. If it hadn’t been for Ron, she likely would have given up. As cruel as it was, his screams kept her going. His screams meant that he was alive, that he was fighting; that they were fighting. Now, there was only silence. 

* * *

Hermione awoke to the sounds of fighting, not aware that she had dozed off. There was yelling and banging coming from just outside the cellar door. 

She looked over at Ron. He was awake. They looked at each other with a mix of fear and meaning. She mouthed _ I love you _ to him. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she wanted to do, but this was all she could muster. He mouthed  _ I love you _ back to her but was interrupted by the cellar door slamming open. 

In marched three death eaters. Hermione noticed that they were all stepping over something to get in the cellar. With revulsion, she realised it was a body. 

“Untie them, quick”, one of the death eaters ordered. 

The restraints on Hermione disappeared, and a death eater came up to her, beginning to drag her away. But as soon as she began to move, more death eaters came in, waving their wands, and aiming for the first group of death eaters. She was immediately dropped, as a fight broke out. 

Through the chaos, she found Ron and crawled over to him. The death eaters seemed to be too focused on each other than Ron and Hermione to notice. This would be a perfect time to try to escape, Hermione thought, if only they were able to walk. They held each other as the fight raged on. 

Another death eater fell, and Hermione could just make out the oversized body of Crabbe Sr. They all still had their masks on, and Hermione wondered how they could tell who was on which side, but they seemed to be managing just fine. 

Another death eater tried to pick her up, but he was hit with a spell that struck him down. 

This seemed to anger one of the death eaters, as he began violently waving his wand, slashing whoever it was directed at. 

It took a moment for Hermione to realise what had happened. Her arms were now clutching her abdomen, blood pouring between the gaps. She had been hit by the slashing spell. 

She found herself suddenly laying down, her hands barely able to control the blood, which seemed to flow more and more rapidly. Ron’s hands were on her wound, putting painful pressure on it. But, it didn’t seem to make a difference.

She could feel herself fading, no longer aware of what was going on around them. Ron cradled her head, lifting it closer to his. 

“Hang in there,” he said desperately. “Please, Hermione.”

He put more pressure on her wound but continued to stare at her. 

“You’re going to be alright,” he said, his voice sounding more sure. “We’re going to be alright. You know how I know?”

She could feel the familiar tingling sensation in her limbs, warning her of her impending unconscious. 

“Look at me,” he said, causing her to focus on him. “I know that, because we’re together. And we always end up alright when we’re together.”

She stared up into his striking ice blue eyes, seeing love, safety,  _ hope _ . It was the last thing that she saw before she faded away. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: blood, injuries, torture, depression?

June 8th, 1998

“Look what you’ve done!”, bellowed a death eater. The arguing and fighting continued, but Ron didn’t notice, he was too caught up in the vision of Hermione's lifeless form. He still had his hand on her wound, hoping that the pressure he was putting on it was helping. His eyes drifted from her closed eyes to her chest, urging it to move. But, before he could see if she was breathing, he was abruptly dragged from her. 

He was beside himself, kicking and screaming, trying to fight his way back to her. But, it was no use, as a death eater hit him with  _ petrificus totalus.  _ He could no longer audibly scream or fight, but, in his head, he was still screaming. When he was hit with the freezing spell, he was turned away from her, which meant he could no longer see her. Still, he internally screamed for her, urging his body to move, to get back to her.

Ron was then blindfolded and dragged out of the cellar. The sunlight hit him, and even through the black fabric, it had burned. The death eaters continued to drag him, his legs brushing against sharp twigs and thorns until they tired. With a wave of their wands, Ron was now magically floating alongside them. 

Ron could not figure out how long they had been moving. His sense of time had been turned on its head. He didn’t know what day it was, and could only assume that it was day due to the light behind his blindfold. He hoped with all that he had that Hermione with them as well, fearing that they left her for dead in the cellar.

The death eaters had stopped and Ron was dropped from his floating position. Instead of landing gracefully on his feet, he plopped forward, like a domino, face-first into the forest floor. The death eaters hurled him up and removed his blindfold. 

The light was blinding, and Ron could not see more than yellow for what felt like minutes. Eventually, his eyes adjusted, and he could just make out two figures, far away from him, in the centre of a clearing. With a strike of panic, he realised that one of the figures was Hermione, her brown hair tangled beneath her. Over her stood a death eater, his wand pointed at her figure. 

Ron was helpless, he couldn’t move, shout, or even look away. No, instead he was forced to see when the death eater pulled back his wand, and with a flourish pointed it at Hermione and shouted  _ avada kedavra.  _

* * *

June 6th, 1998

Harry heard a crash and ran downstairs, taking two steps at a time. Molly stood in the kitchen frozen, a broken dish laying in pieces at her feet. She was looking out of the kitchen window, and Harry rushed down to see what she was looking at. 

Standing outside, just out of the burrows wards, stood Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic. Harry hurried to let Kingsley in, Arthur and Ginny following close behind him. After making sure Kingsley was who he said he was, (by answering questions only the real Kingsley would know) Arthur waved his wand and let him into the burrow’s wards. The foursome walked back to the burrow in tense silence. 

Molly had moved to the sitting room, standing anxiously, waiting for the group to enter. Before Kingsley could announce his reason for his sudden appearance, she spoke up. 

“What happened to them?”, she asked quietly. It was times like these that she wished that George hadn’t destroyed the magical clock, in a burst of anguish over his twin whose hand would forever be pointed towards  _ dead _ . 

Kingsley forgo niceties and explained that the ministry had been alerted of a public apparation in a muggle restaurant, which was seen by muggle restaurant-goers. He told them that they had successfully altered the muggles' memories, though none of the listeners seemed to be relieved by this, restlessly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Finally, Kingsley revealed why he was there; they had found a letter in the place of the magical apparaters, one that concerned Ron and Hermione. 

He went to pull the letter out of his robe, and Harry ripped it from his hands, no longer caring about politeness or hierarchy.  _ His friends could be in danger _ . 

_ Dear Hermione and Ron, _

_ There has been trouble with Hermione's parents. I have included a portkey that leaves at 7:25. You both need to take it.  _

_ Kingsley _

“This is from you?”, he asked angrily. 

“No,” Kingsley responded calmly, the letter now being passed between the Weasley’s. 

“If you didn’t send it-“

“There has been a breach in the ministry, yes.” Kingsley interrupted.

“We’ve got to go to Hermione’s parents’,” Harry said urgently. 

“I’ve got people on that,” Kingsley said, still entirely too calm for Harry’s liking. 

“How do you know that they’re not corrupt?”, Harry was now shouting, his fear for his friends merging into anger. 

“We have already found the breach, but I will be heading there as soon as we are done.”

“How do I know that you’re not involved?”, Harry was no longer thinking clearly though his red mask of anger. “I’m going with you.”

“I assumed as much,” Kingsley responded, not paying attention to Harry’s outburst and accusation, knowing that it was baseless. 

Mrs. Weasley was now sobbing quietly, while Arthur comforted her. Ginny had offered to go as well but was quickly stopped by her mother, not wanting anyone else to be in danger, especially her underage daughter. 

* * *

Kingsley and Harry had taken a portkey to the Granger’s Australia home, as soon as they had gotten the “all clear” from the aurors who had done the preliminary sweep. 

Harry landed in the foyer of the Granger’s home, sunlight beginning to break through the windows. The aurors announced that they had not found Ron or Hermione, much to Harry’s disquiet. They shared that they had found  _ something _ , and led them to the sitting room. 

The Grangers were sitting there, untouched by the aurors. The only change made by the aurors was the shutting of the curtains, so that noisy neighbors couldn’t see in. The aurors confirmed that the Grangers were dead, but, Harry thought, that wasn’t hard to figure out. Their throats had been slit, the blood soaking into their pyjamas. Kingsley waved his wand, closing their eyes. 

They went to inspect the rest of the house and to get away from the sorrowful sight. But, as Harry went to leave, he almost tripped on an item on the floor. He bent down to inspect the offending object. Picking it up, he was terrified to find that it was Ron’s wand. 

* * *

Harry hadn’t slept that night, spending his time pacing in the aurors headquarters. Kingsley had been called back, not minutes after they had arrived in Australia because there was a break in the case. Harry insisted that he know everything that was going on, and started his position as an auror a month early. 

When they arrived at the headquarters, Harry was disheartened to find that the break in the case was not finding his friends, but instead a note and a picture sent by their captures.

The picture was a muggle one, of Hermione and Ron, tied up in a dark dungeon-like setting. Ron’s face was barely visible, his head tilted back, away from the camera. Next to him, Hermione was staring straight into the camera, her face was bleeding, portraying a look of fear and confusion. 

There was only a brief note that accompanied the startling picture. In red ink and flourishing script, the note read:  _ do as we say _ . Much to Harry’s anger, this was all that was written. A vague and non-helpful warning note. What could they do with that?

The answer was; not much. The other aurors used Harry’s knowledge of the pair to try and brainstorm locations that they could be held. But, the truth was, they could be anywhere. And without more information from their captures, they had nowhere to turn. 

They had theorized that it was likely death eaters that had taken the pair. A theory that was solidified by the interrogation by the mole in the ministry.

Alan Atkinson was the assistant to the Head of the Department of Quill Control and Rune Translation. The department was on the same floor as the Minister, and Atkinson’s boss reported to Kingsley. It was a lowly position, one that did not require a daily walk through the  _ thief’s downfall.  _ But, one that was close enough to the Minister’s office, that one could sneak in and get official stationery if they were savvy enough. 

When learning of the breach in the Ministry, all employees were forced to walk through the thief's downfall, revealing any disguises or spells that one had placed upon them. When Alan walked through the waterfall, he did not exit the enchanted arch. Instead, it was Roland Jugson who exited, known death eater, polyjuiced as Atkinson. 

The aurors were not able to get much information out of Jugson, even after using veritaserum. Jugson was a powerful death eater, having evaded capture for over a month, and was able to lie through the serum. Nevertheless, it gave the aurors a lead; he was likely in cahoots with whoever had Hermione and Ron. Which meant that death eaters were the ones who had the pair. 

After hours of discussion and no new revelations, the aurors split up, going off of their leads and traveling to different parts of the earth. 

After the war, the aurors had been largely dismantled, the good ones having been killed or forced out of their positions by death eaters. Now that the force was being recreated, their numbers were much smaller. Because of this, they could only search three places at a time, with three aurors in each group. 

Harry had accompanied one group to Klagenfurt, Austria, where Selwyn had been spotted two weeks earlier. They went to the location that he had last been seen and spread out from there. Though how three of them were supposed to search an entire city, Harry did not know.

After hours of searching to no avail, the group returned to the headquarters. The other groups had returned as well, with the same lack of results. After some discussion, it was decided that they needed more of a lead before searching anywhere else. So, they just had to wait. 

After more hours of frustrating nothing, Harry had an idea. He returned to the burrow, where all of the Weasley’s were now convened. He answered all of their pressing questions (mostly with  _ I don’t know _ ) and then rushed up to his and Ron’s room. After searching manually, and making quite a mess, he remembered there was an easier way. After an  _ accio deluminator _ , his new plan was now in his hand. It also meant waiting, but now he was waiting for one of them to say his name. 

He went to return back to the headquarters, this time with Charlie, Bill, and Percy coming with him. Ginny still wanted to go, but her mum insisted she stayed. George stayed as well as he was not in his right mind, at least not enough to be of much help. 

Minutes ticked by especially slowly in the headquarters. Cots had been set up for those who had been working through the night, and their coworkers had come to replace them. Harry was offered a cot, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep, even though he had been up for over twenty-four hours. He was assured that he would be awoken if anything happened and that he wasn’t much use sleep deprived. So, reluctantly, Harry laid on the cot, sleep coming in uncomfortable bursts. 

* * *

Harry was awoken to the first commotion that the auror headquarters had seen in days. Another picture had arrived. Harry went up to those surrounding the picture and letter, but he was pushed back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Percy being sick. Harry was struck with fear of what this picture entailed. 

Nonetheless, he pushed through and took ahold of the picture. The first thing he noticed was that this picture was a magical one. But unlike most of the magical pictures he was aware of, instead of being able to interact with the subjects of the pictures, these subjects seemed to be on a loop. Repeating their movements over and over again. 

He first noticed Ron. He was again (still?) unconscious, but this time more badly hurt. He was bandaged across his ribs, though blood was seeping through. His visible arms and legs were heavily bruised. And again his head was barely visible, this time slumped forward.

Then, he looked at Hermione. She was saying something that Harry could not make out, repeating herself over and over. Her eyes were intent on the camera, as if willing it to help her. She too was covered in blood, most of it convening on her lap. Her dress had been torn and was hanging at her shoulders. They both looked horrible, and Harry was shocked it had only been a day since they were taken. He also understood why Percy had been sick, he had to turn his head away from the picture, it was too gruesome, too  _ sad,  _ for him to look at any longer. 

“What is she saying?”, Harry asked, realising his voice was barely audible. 

“We’ll figure that out,” said one of the older aurors, gently patting him on his back and taking the picture from his hands. 

“Was there a longer note this time?”, he asked, just noticing that Kingsley was in the room, holding a letter in his hands. 

Harry went to take the letter out of Kingsley’s hands, but Kingsley stopped him. 

“We need to come up with a plan.”, Kingsley said, careful not to let Harry see the note. 

“What does it say?”, Harry asked firmly, feeling anything but firm in his resolve to see the contents of the note. 

“We’re a team, Harry,” Kingsley said just as firmly. “We make decisions together, and we act on them  _ together.” _

Harry was barely paying attention to what Kingsley was saying as he passed Harry the ransom note. It was written in a hurried, barely legible script, different than that of the previous note. 

_ Harry. Alone. No wand. We’ll know. Or they die.  _

Underneath the cryptic note was a set of numbers; 8/6 20:00, and a longer set of numbers that Harry couldn’t figure out. 

* * *

After discussing the note with the aurors, it was figured that only Harry could see the last bit of numbers. When he tried to relay them, he couldn’t, his voice would stop, and he would end up squeaking inaudibly. They had deduced that the numbers-that-only-Harry-could-see were coordinates _ ; the meeting place _ . The spell that let only Harry see the coordinates was similar to that of a secret keeper. Harry could not share it with anyone, not even through writing or mime.

This meant that only Harry could apparate to this mysterious location. The aurors went into full planning mode, trying to figure out how they could side-along with Harry, without being seen.

They tried to anticipate any spell or magic that could be in place when they arrived, which would ensure that Harry was alone and wandless. They got the profiles out on all of the remaining death eaters, trying to find their weaknesses. The auror interrogating Jugson doubled down on his attempts, and other aurors were sent to Azkaban, to see if any of the imprisoned death eaters were aware of a plan. 

Harry looked at the clock on the wall, it was noon, eight hours until he was going to rescue his friends. And he would, even if it meant that he was on his own and wandless like the death eaters note described. 

* * *

It was half-past seven, and the aurors and Harry were going over their plan for a final time. Harry had just said goodbye to (and had the most amazing snog with), Ginny. Now, he was once again ready to lay his life down for his friends. 

It was decided that Kingsley himself was going to act as Harry, with the help of polyjuice. Harry and two high-level aurors, Hino and Sarraf, were to apparate with him, with Harry under the invisibility cloak and the aurors using an invisibility spell. As soon as Hino landed and became aware of the mystery spot, he was to return and bring more invisible aurors back with him. 

Harry was supposed to return as well but talked himself into the plan by insisting the death eaters may ask Kingsley-Harry something that only Harry knew, and Harry would need to be there to tell Kingsley the answer. But, he was told, he must stay behind the others, and follow all of their orders. 

It was minutes before eight, and Harry was going over the coordinates in his head. He wasn’t sure he could apparate to a place only by their coordinates and he shivered at the thought of having a failed apparation and possibly splinching the Minister. 

It was time to go, Harry placed the cloak over himself, made sure that everyone was holding on tight, looked over the coordinates, and spun. 

* * *

Ron had lost all sense of time, no longer knowing how long he had been captured or how long he had been without Hermione. It felt like months ago when he last held her hands, when he last saw her face. 

He was in a new cellar, or maybe a dungeon. He didn’t know and he didn’t care. He was no longer tied up, he hadn’t been since they arrived. He had given up, and the death eaters knew. He barely reacted to their crucios and punches, though they seemed to be fewer and fewer. Apparently, it wasn’t as much fun when your  _ prey  _ didn’t react. 

Ron thought cynically, that he could have easily tried to make his escape. Since he was no longer bound and the number of death eaters seemed to be dwindling each moment. In fact, he was pretty sure he had only seen two the last couple of times they had come to have _ fun  _ with him. But he didn’t try to attempt his escape.  _ What was the point?  _

He couldn’t sleep, every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Well, he saw a figure of her, being killed, green light flashing over and over again. But somehow, tonight, he had faded into sleep (or perhaps he had lost consciousness?). He was abruptly awoken by a crash. He didn’t attempt to sit up or try to see what was going on. Instead, he curled over to his uninjured side and placed a hand over his ear. It didn’t help block out the noise, growing louder and louder. But it helped him to feel in control. 

A death eater was calling his name, Ron could see his feet running towards him.  _ Maybe this was it.  _ The death eater crouched down to Ron’s level and Ron could see that he was no death eater. It was Harry kneeling in front of him. 

“Ron,” Harry said urgently. “Are you okay? Where are you hurt? You’re safe.”

He kept asking silly, repetitive questions, and Ron wished he would just  _ be quiet _ .  _ Are you okay? Are you hurt?  _ They were all stupid questions, Ron thought darkly.

Did he seem okay?

“Where’s Hermione?”, Harry asked, changing up his silly question spree. Ron ignored Harry’s question, just like he had the others. “Where’s Hermione?”, Harry asked again, sounding strained. 

But Ron didn’t answer this question, he couldn’t. Instead, he rolled to his other side, facing away from Harry. The pain of his broken rib on the concrete was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of Chapters 13 and 14  
> Hermione and Ron are held by death eaters in a cellar. Their picture and the words do as we say are sent to the aurors and Harry. Harry and the Weasley’s had been alerted to their kidnapping and Harry joined the aurors early. When Hermione and Ron used the portkey in the letter (and were led to the trap), they left behind a letter that was supposedly written by Kingsley. Kingsley had not written the letter, and it was found that a death eater, who had polyjuiced himself as Alan Atkinson, a lower-level ministry worker, had. The death eater who had polyjuiced himself, Jugson, was interrogated by aurors as to the location of the missing pair, but he was able to lie through veritaserum. 
> 
> After some failed searching and interrogations, Kingsley and the aurors received another ransom note and picture of the pair. 
> 
> Meanwhile, a fight among the death eaters took place, killing an unknown amount of them, and wounding Hermione. Hermione and Ron were separated and moved, finally ending up in a forest. While under the spell petrificus totalus, Ron sees a death eater perform the killing curse on Hermione. They then apparate to a new location, without Hermione.
> 
> The note sent to the aurors said to have Harry go to a location at a certain time, by himself, and without a wand. The location was magicked so that only Harry could see it, and he was unable to share it with others. The aurors concocted a plan which had Kingsley polyjuiced as Harry and real-Harry and other aurors using the invisibility cloak and invisibility spells to disguise themselves. They apparated to the secret location, and it is not revealed exactly what happened. However, we end the flashback with Harry finding Ron and realising that Hermione is not with them. 
> 
> And now let’s go back to the future!  
> ~Dot

“I haven’t been completely truthful,” Hermione said quietly. “I do remember some things from before.”

Ron stopped in his tracks and turned to face her.  _ What could she be keeping from him? _

“Well, I have dreams of flashing lights. I know now they are spells being cast, but I’ve dreamt about them since I was found.”

Ron looked at her, feeling disappointed. For a moment he had hope, hope that she remembered something about their shared past. But spells being cast wasn’t much of a revelation. 

“And I dream about something else. Whenever I would dream about it I would feel calm, peaceful. It didn’t matter if I was having a nightmare, if I was terrified, whenever I dreamed about it, I knew I was safe.”

Ron was now feeling confused. What is she talking about? If he didn’t know how intelligent she was, he might assume she was a bit loony. Nevertheless, he let her continue on her strange monologue. 

“I also didn’t know what it was, until recently,” she said, taking a deep breath. “It’s a beautiful, calming blue. The blue of your eyes. I remembered your eyes.” 

Ron could barely comprehend what she had said. She remembered him! Well, she remembered his eyes. But that was something. He was overcome with the urge to do something that he had been thinking about since they last parted. Without thinking, he took her head in his hands and kissed her lips. 

She kissed him back, even giving a little moan.  _ This was going better than he expected.  _ She moaned again and moved back from him. Then, she stumbled and fell to her knees. 

_ Oh fuck _ . This was  _ not  _ going as well as he had expected. He began apologising to Hermione, telling her how sorry he was; he shouldn’t have done that, it was inappropriate, she barely knew him. But, his apologies seemed to fall on deaf ears; Hermione was not reacting to what he was saying. 

He squatted down next to her.  _ How bad did he fuck this up?  _ Her face was buried in her hands. Was she crying? He put his hands over hers to expose her face and was relieved to see that she was not crying. Her eyes were closed and her face was twisted unnaturally. He knew that look. 

“Are you hurt?”, he asked, suddenly feeling panic. “Hermione, look at me. Are you in pain?”

Hermione did not open her eyes but shakily nodded her head. 

“Shit. What’s wrong? What can I do?”

Hermione did not respond to him, seemingly too distracted by her pain. 

“I’m taking you to Saint Mungo’s,” he said. With no protest from Hermione, he stood her up, with her leaning heavily on him, and apparated to the hospital. 

He had apparated to the fourth floor, where Hermione had been receiving her treatments by Healer Stoica. 

He had to half carry, half drag Hermione to the reception desk. As soon as he reached the receptionist, he desperately pleaded for help. A nonplussed receptionist reminded him that he was on the Janus Thickey Ward, for permanent spell damage. She began to list off the other floors in a monotone voice, suggesting that he may be looking for one of those floors. He tried to tell her about Hermione, her treatment, and her predicament, but the receptionist continued to drone on her spiel. 

Ron was racked with desperation and didn’t know what to do when a junior healer came by. 

“Is that Miss. Granger?”, she asked. Hermione's face was buried in Ron’s chest. If it wasn’t for her very recognisable coiling hair, it would be hard to tell who she was.

“Yes!”, Ron shouted a little too enthusiastically. He hoped that this healer would help her. “Somethings wrong-“

The junior healer waved him off and told them to follow her. Ron tried to walk with Hermione, but she was practically dead weight, so he decided to carry her. He knew that past-Hermione would not be pleased with this chivalrous move. But, she wasn’t here, was she?

The junior healer led them to a private room, and Ron placed Hermione on the bed, her hands still over her face. The healer introduced herself as Junior Healer Bennett, one of the healers on Hermione's case. She asked Ron what happened, and he did his best to go over the recent events (leaving out the kiss, of course). 

She waved her wand over Hermione like she was scanning produce. Seeming to not have found anything suspicious, she walked closer to Hermione, gently asking her to remove her hands from her face. Hermione did so, but her face was still pained, and her eyes still tightly shut. 

Hr. Bennett asked her to open her eyes, but she did not comply. She still seemed to barely be aware of what was going on around her. Hr. Bennett magicked her eyes open and let out a small “oh”. A chill rushed down Ron’s spine. He ran over to look at what the healer was seeing. 

Hermione's eyes looked normal from afar, with no discoloration or noticeable injuries. But, when Ron looked closer he saw that her eyes were flitting back and forth, not focusing on anything, and moving at a rapid pace. 

“What’s wrong with her?”, he demanded. 

“I’m not sure,” Jr. Hr. Bennett said. “I will call on her healer and have him check on her.” She went to the door, but before she could leave, Ron stopped her. 

“She is in pain,” he said. 

Bennett nodded her head and said she would return with a pain potion as soon as she could. 

Ron returned to Hermione’s bedside. Her eyes were shut again, but her hands were now at her side. He took her hand, though not sure that he should, and began to tell her that everything would be alright. 

He remembered suddenly that he had mysteriously disappeared with Hermione in the middle of Harry’s wedding, and figured his family would notice soon. He didn’t want to cause any panic so he sent a Patronus message to Harry, letting him know that they were in hospital and that something was wrong with Hermione. He knew that the message wouldn’t be calming, and would probably interfere with Harry and Ginny’s wedding night. But, someone needed to know their whereabouts. And, no matter how selfish it was, he wanted his best friend with him. 

Moments later, the hospital door opened. Ron was expecting Hr. Stoica or Bennett back with pain potion. But, it was Harry and Ginny, still in their wedding attire, looking slightly disheveled. Harry rushed over to Hermione and Ron, asking what was wrong. Ron, again, did his best to explain the little amount that he knew. 

Hermione was now curled over on her side, her one hand in Ron’s, and the other clutching her head. Ginny went to the other side of her and began gently stroking her hair. 

The door opened again, and this time it was Hr. Stoica who entered, looking a bit disgruntled, wearing a striped nightcap and matching nightshirt. Jr. Hr. Bennett followed behind with the pain potion, but Stoica stopped her from giving any to Hermione. Saying he needed to check her over first. 

“What is wrong?”, he asked, looking annoyed to be called in the middle of the night. 

Ron moved back so that Hr. Stoica had a better look at Hermione. The healer walked over to Hermione, doing similar spells that the previous healer had done. He did quite a few spells on her head, making knowing murmurs when he did. He lifted her eyelid and inspected her eyes. 

“Has she been hit by any spells or curses?”, he asked no one in particular. 

Ron’s heart stopped. Had he failed to protect her, yet again? Could it have been possible that someone had hit her with a spell while they were kissing? He would have been adequately distracted. And the wards around the burrow had been softened for the wedding. 

“I don’t know,” he replied. 

“I see,” Stoica said. “What were the circumstances before she began acting like this?”

Ron told Dr. Stoica that they had just celebrated Harry and Ginny’s wedding, and were walking around when she suddenly was hit with pain. 

Stoica nodded and waved his wand at Hermione, who dropped back onto the bed. 

“What did you do to her?”, Ron nearly yelled. 

Hr. Stoica raised his hands as if to say  _ calm down _ . 

“She is merely asleep. She doesn’t need to be awake for this.” Hr. Stoica began to walk towards the door. “I will check on her tomorrow,” he said, while looking at the clock over the door, it was a quarter past two in the morning, “well, later today.”

“Wait,” Ron called out. “What’s wrong with her, what’s going on?”

Stoica looked back at Ron in annoyance. “We have found the key,” he said. At Ron’s confusion he added, “she is  _ remembering _ .” 

* * *

Hermione awoke, thinking to herself how she was becoming quite sick of waking up in hospital beds. But her self-pity quickly diminished as she looked over to the person next to her. Ron was half-sitting, half-laying in the chair next to Hermione. His body was tangled in an uncomfortable-looking position. His mouth was slightly ajar and doing the famous Ron snore. His hand was resting on her bed, palm facing upward as if still grasping for her hand, even in his sleep. 

Hermione watched him for a moment, enjoying the rarely seen peace she saw in his face. But, she had to wake him. She had to talk to him. She gently put her hand in his and whispered his name. 

He did not stir, and she knew he wouldn’t, he was much too much of a heavy sleeper. So, reluctant to disturb his peace, she called his name louder, waking him from his slumber. 

“Wha-,” Ron started, jolted out of his sleep. “Hermione,” he said with equal parts concern and excitement, remembering where he was, and what they were doing there. 

“Hi,” she responded softly, squeezing his hand in hers. 

“How are you feeling? Are you okay? The healer said-“

“I’m alright,” she responded with a small smile. “Never better”.

He instinctively reached to brush her hair out of her face, this time not stopping himself before he did. 

“Your healer, he said...he said  _ you were remembering,”  _ Ron said, his voice becoming quieter as he went on. 

Hermione nodded her head, taking his other hand in hers. 

Ron stared at her in shock. “What do you remember?”, he finally uttered.

“Everything.”

“ _ Everything?”,  _ he repeated incredulously. 

“Well, you’re right, I can’t possibly know if I’ve remembered everything. I couldn’t tell you what I had for breakfast 6 years ago, but I think I remember the gist of things.” 

Ron’s mouth was slightly ajar, not fully processing what she was saying. 

Noticing his disbelief, she added, “you could always test me.” 

“Right,” he said, nodding. This was something he had the ability to do, unlike trying to figure out how this impossible thing had occurred. 

“Erm,” Ron tried to think of things that hadn't been told to her already. “When we were all staying at Sirius’, back before 5th year, you brought some muggle thing with you, that freaked dad out. What was it?”

“Oh,” Hermione said with a laugh. “My Discman?”

“Yeah!,” Ron said excitedly. “You could play all sorts of songs on that. Whichever song you wanted, whenever you wanted!” 

“I tried so hard to try to explain how it worked to your dad. But, the truth was I barely knew, myself.”

Both began to laugh in remembrance. After a few minutes, Ron remembered the task at hand. He tried to think of the right questions to ask; there were so many. Cringing internally, he knew what he had to ask her. 

“In 6th year,” he started cautiously. “When you, erm, caught me and Lavender.” He paused, avoiding eye contact with Hermione, though still squeezing her hands gently. “What spell did you set on us?” 

“Avis”, she said firmly. “I am sorry about that whole thing”, she said in a much less steady voice. 

Ron shook his head.

“Me too,” he said, now looking directly in her eyes. “But, that’s good. You’ve remembered everything so far.”

“How did I find myself back to you during the war?”, he asked. His abandonment was one of the details that they had glossed over when discussing everything with Hermione. 

“With Dumbledore’s deluminator. Because I said your name.”

Ron nodded again. Three out of three. 

“Where was the first place that we made love?”, he asked, not quite sure where the question came from. 

“Your bedroom at the burrow. And, I’m pretty sure, that’s the  _ only  _ place we’ve made love,” she added with a chuckle. 

Ron dropped her hands, grabbing her waist and pulling her closer. He once again placed his lips on hers. This kiss so much different than the last. Forgoing the whole  _ getting her memory painfully back  _ thing. This kiss was also much more passionate than before. It had something that the last one hadn’t; love. They snogged for what felt like hours, tongues fighting each other and hands messing up their already quite messy hair. 

Finally, they broke free. Maybe for oxygen, or maybe because the emotions they were feeling were just too strong. Hermione was struck with something she had to say. It had been said before, but so much time had passed, she was worried that it wouldn’t be reciprocated. But, she didn’t give herself time to overthink it. 

“I love you,” she said, staring into his heartbreakingly beautiful eyes. 

At first, he didn’t respond, and Hermione felt her breath catch. He rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone and met her eyes. She could see a smile spreading across his face,

“I love you too, Hermione. So much.” 

* * *

After recovering from the high from their proclamations of love, they began to go over what had happened the night before. Hermione explained her point of view of the previous night's events. She had only been kissing Ron for a moment when her mind started getting bombarded with memories. First slowly, and mostly having to do with Ron, then so quick that she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Her head started to ache so significantly that she could barely concentrate on her memories. She was only slightly aware of what was going on. She explained her experience like having a cinema in her head, playing her memories non-stop. It got to the point where she could no longer turn it off and became completely entranced in her memories. But, she woke today feeling like  _ Hermione _ . No headache, no memories swirling in her brain, each of her memories seeming to be in the right order and ready for her to pick them out when she so wanted. 

Ron told her of his experience. How he had brought her to Saint Mungo’s. How Hr. Stoica had examined her and told Ron that she was remembering. That Harry and Ginny were here until Ron had forced them to go, saying he would alert them when Hermione awoke. After all, it was their wedding night. 

“Oh no,” Hermione responded to Ron’s story. “I hope I haven’t ruined their wedding!”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Ron reassured, “their wedding was pretty much over anyway. Plus, I’m sure they’ll be so excited to have you back.”

With that, Ron sent Harry a Patronus telling him of Hermione’s recovery, and assuring him that they could go on their honeymoon without having to check on her.

Nevertheless, seconds later, Harry and Ginny arrived at Hermione's hospital room. 

Hermione got out of her bed and rushed over to them. Partially because she was so excited to finally  _ see  _ them, and partially because she wanted to prove that she was okay. She was glad that wizarding hospital gowns were not open in the back, and wondered for a moment when she was changed out of her dress. 

“Hermione,” Harry said, pulling her into a hug. 

Hermione moved from Harry to hug Ginny. 

“You’re really okay?”, he asked. “You have your memory back?”

“Yes,” said Hermione smiling at the newlyweds. 

“And you two are  _ married _ ,” Hermione said, almost squealing. She now knew what that truly meant. “I hope I didn’t mess anything up for you two,” she said, talking about much more than just their wedding night. 

“Nonsense,” said Ginny firmly. Harry nodded his head in agreement. 

“Alright,” Hermione responded, not completely believing them. “But shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon?”

“Our portkey leaves in an hour,” said Harry. “But, we wanted to make sure that you were okay. We can always get another one.”

Hermione waved him off. 

“I am  _ fine,”  _ she said exaggeratedly. “I am more than fine; my best friends are married!”

Ginny and Harry smiled at each other. 

“Go,” she said, pretending to shoo them away. “I mean it, go pack, go get that portkey, and go enjoy your honeymoon.”

Harry looked back at Ron who gave him an agreeing nod. 

“She's right, mate. We’ll write if anything’s wrong. But, nothing will be.”

“Oh, alright,” said Ginny, giving Hermione another squeeze. “I’m so happy to have you back,” she whispered in Hermione's ear. 

“Me too,” said Hermione. 

With that, the newlyweds said their goodbyes and left for their honeymoon. 


	16. Chapter 16

Hermione had to wait to see Healer Stoica before she could leave Saint Mungo’s. After waiting for over an hour, Ron’s stomach began to rumble, so he headed up to the tearoom to get an early dinner for the pair. 

They had long finished their sandwiches when Healer Stoica made his appearance. He had checked Hermione over once again and asked her about her previous day’s experience. 

It had been decided that she had not been hit by a spell or curse. But, Healer Stoica could not figure out why she had regained her memory. He had the pair go over their story over and over, trying to find any detail that they had missed. 

“And what exactly were you doing, before she began to regain her memory?”, he asked. 

The pair looked at each other, they had left out the fact that they were snogging before the onset of Hermione's memory. Ron began stuttering, but Stoica raised his hand to quiet him. 

“I see,” Stoica said. “It would make sense, it is ancient magic.” He began walking to the door, apparently content with whatever he had figured out. 

“What would make sense?”, asked Hermione. Both she and Ron not quite understanding what he was talking about. 

“Love,” he said simply. With that he went to exit, telling Hermione to call on him if she had any problems, but that she likely would not. 

“I still don’t know what he’s on about,” said Ron, waiting until the door closed and Stoica was out of the room to talk. 

Hermione gave a small laugh. 

“I think he means that us kissing brought back my memories, that love was the antidote, so to speak.”

Ron still looked at her incredulously. 

“If you think about it, it’s what saved Harry when he was a baby. So there must be a way to magically quantify love,” she opened her mouth to continue, but became lost in thought, thinking about how one would quantify love. 

“So are you telling me,” Ron asked, breaking Hermione from her trail of thoughts. “That if I had found you five years ago and kissed you, or even back when Charlie found you, that you would be back to normal?”

“Well, I think if you had found me in Germany, and kissed me, I would have been terrified, and probably tried to fight you. Same as if you had tried before I got to know you. I don’t think that you just kissing me would count as love, not really. I’d have to want you to.”

Ron pondered Hermione's assessment for a moment. 

“Do you mean that you loved me when we kissed last night?”, he asked. 

This question took Hermione by surprise, and she had to think for a moment about what the answer was. 

“I’m not sure that I loved you completely. But,” she said, turning to face him, “I did fancy you. I wanted you to kiss me.”

“Really?”, Ron asked with a smirk. 

“Well, you can be charming, when you want to be.”

“Yeah, but I was mostly an arse to you this past month.”

Hermione gave a smile. 

“A charming arse,” she responded with a wink. 

* * *

Hermione and Ron apparated back to the burrow, where they were engulfed in hugs by both Molly and Arthur. After minutes of teary congratulations from Molly and back pats from Arthur, Hermione excused herself to bed. It was still early, but she was feeling exhausted and overwhelmed from the last day’s events. 

But, Hermione did not make it to Ginny’s old room. She had barely walked up half a flight of stairs when she began to feel it. The walls felt like they were closing in, her breathing became laboured, and her heart began to race. Her mind was racing with all of that she had recently remembered, mostly focusing on the terror she had experienced during the course of her young life. And it was becoming overwhelming. Being trapped with Ron, being kidnapped, had happened such a long time ago, but with the recent recovery of her memories, it felt like it just happened. She felt bile rise up her throat that accompanied the familiar urge to  _ get out.  _

Somewhere in the middle of this panic, Ron had appeared. He wrapped his arms around her and tried to soothe her. But, him enclosing her only made her feel more trapped. She pushed off his arms, taking his hands instead. 

“Should we leave?”, he asked her. 

She didn’t know how he knew what she needed, but she didn’t ponder it. Instead, she nodded her head, and the pair apparated. 

* * *

Apparating had knocked the wind out of Hermione, but it also helped her to feel a bit better. Maybe it was the wind on her back. Or the freedom of being anywhere and everywhere all at the same time. 

The pair had landed into a small, dusty, and dark flat, which Hermione did not recognize. 

“Where are we?”, she asked. As she did, Ron used his wand to illuminate the room, giving her a better view of the flat. 

They were on the first floor of a compact flat. They had apparated into the sitting room-come-dining room-come-kitchen. Hermione looked around. The furniture had no rhyme or reason; there was what looked to be a Victorian sofa and armchair, mixed with a modern kitchen, and a bright green laminate dining table. The flat was scarcely furnished. One sofa, one armchair, a small dining table with mismatched chairs, a bookshelf, and a side table. It would have seemed un-lived in if it wasn’t for the clutter. The armchair was barely visible under the pile of clothing atop it. The kitchen and tables were covered with open books, empty plates, and the largest collection of half-empty alcohol bottles Hermione had seen. 

“It’s my flat,” Ron said, a blush creeping up his ears. “Sorry,” he said, while picking up a dirty jumper off of the sofa, “it was the first place I thought of. If I had planned for you to come over, I would have cleaned.”

Hermione shook her head trying to voicelessly tell Ron that it was fine, but something felt entirely wrong. This didn’t feel like Ron’s flat at all, where was the quidditch merchandise, the set of wizards chess, or posters of the Chudley Cannons?

“How long have you lived here?”, she asked, hoping that the answer would help to shine a light on some of her questions. 

“Since I started working for George, we're in Diagon Alley.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. That meant he had been here for years. He moved here for work. 

Work. 

“Oh shit!”, she exclaimed. “I have work tomorrow.” Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She didn’t have work tomorrow. Jane did. “I completely forgot. I have to get my lessons, and we’ve got our meeting, and I have to find something to wear, and I should dye my hair back, and-“

“Hermione, relax”, Ron said, rubbing her arms. “You were preparing to go home after the wedding, so I’m sure you have everything in order.”

Ron was right. She had packed all of her things days before, and was planning on heading home (was it really home, now?) after the wedding. She had had her lessons prepared for months. What was she doing worrying about what she was going to wear, or her hair? She was spiraling. 

“What do you need to do first?”, he asked her. 

This was good, a plan. Hermione liked plans. She had all of what she needed at her flat, so she could get her things from the burrow another day. She told Ron this, and they apparated to her flat. 

But, as soon as they arrived at her flat, she began to feel panic again. She didn’t go into a full-blown panic attack, but the sense of being completely overwhelmed was hard to shake. 

“Why don’t you get ready for bed?” Ron asked. “And I’ll pop by mums and get some Dreamless Sleep. You do need your sleep.”

Hermione nodded and headed to her room to change. She sat on her bed in her pyjamas, waiting for Ron. But, she didn’t have to wait long, as moments later he knocked on her bedroom door.

He had poured the potion into a cup, helping to make it look less medicinal.

“Will you stay?”, she asked as she took the potion from him. She knew it wasn’t fair of her to ask, it was barely past seven and Ron wasn’t likely to sleep that early. But, it had been such a long time since she had been alone, and as desperate as it felt, she didn’t want to be without him. 

“Of course,” Ron replied without hesitation, walking to the other side of her bed and laying down. 

She downed the foul-tasting potion and laid next to him. 

“I should set my alarm,” she said, knowing she needed to do this before sleep took her. 

“I’ll wake you, what time do you need to be up?”

“5.”

“In the morning?”, Ron asked, causing both of them to laugh. 

“I have to be in early; we have a beginning of term meeting.”

“Alright,” Ron said, stroking her hair. “5 it is.”

With that Hermione cuddled into Ron’s arms, a peaceful, dreamless sleep overtaking her. 

* * *

Hermione woke to Ron softly saying her name. She was in the exact same position she fell asleep in, thanks to the Dreamless Sleep potion. Her body ached from lack of movement, but her mind felt calm and unnaturally blank. 

She thanked Ron for staying and for waking her, then headed into the loo. Neither had said much this early morning as neither of them were morning people. She expected Ron to fall back asleep. After all, it was barely daybreak. 

She undressed sleepily and headed into the shower. The warm water felt wonderful on her sore muscles. It was desperately needed too, as she hadn’t showered since before the wedding. Her hair product and leftover makeup were washed away as she was cleansed by the water. 

She reluctantly got out of the shower; she only had so much time. Wiping the mirror to get rid of the fog from the shower, Hermione analysed her appearance. What was the school going to think of her? Her hair was completely different. And she was different, too. Though not in a way she could explain to her coworkers. Would they be able to tell? Could they somehow know that she wasn’t  _ her  _ anymore?

She thought briefly about magicking her hair blonde. But, she didn’t want to. She liked her hair now, and she didn’t want to hide anymore. She did change her golden tattoo back to black.  _ That  _ would be hard to explain. 

She headed to her room to get a change of clothes and was surprised to see that Ron was not in her bed. Was he that desperate to get away from her? The smell of bacon wafted into her room, erasing the self-pity she was feeling. He was cooking. Ron was cooking her breakfast. She hurriedly changed into her work clothes, excited to see this rare sight. 

Ron had set out a platter of bacon and was scrambling eggs when he noticed Hermione come out of her room. She raised her eyebrow at him and his apparently newfound cooking skill. 

“I figured you needed to eat, no?”, he said while pouring the eggs onto a plate. 

“You’re right,” Hermione said, sitting down at her kitchen bar. “It’s incredibly kind of you.”

Ron gave a small shrug and sat next to Hermione, tucking into his breakfast. 

Hermione went to take a bite of eggs when she thought of something. 

“Ron?”

“Hmm,” Ron responded, mouth full of bacon. 

“Where did you get the eggs and bacon?”. 

Hermione hadn’t gone shopping for over a month, and if he had somehow found food in her fridge, there was no way that it was still good. 

“I popped over to the burrow and grabbed some,” Ron said between bites. “I figured mom wouldn’t mind, and you don’t have much to make here.”

Hermione smiled and began to eat her breakfast, feeling a deep appreciation for the man sitting next to her. She looked over at him in adoration, which was only slightly taken away by the sight of him  _ stuffing  _ his mouth with eggs. 

“So,” Ron said, apparently needing a break to breathe between bites, “what's the plan for today?”

“Well,” said Hermione, checking her watch, “the bus leaves in 20, and I figured it’d be best to take it.” 

She had given her mode of transportation to work a lot of thought. The school she worked at was in a very busy neighborhood, and there wasn’t a very good place to apparate, unseen. Even if she managed it, the school secretary took the same bus as her, and would likely ask why she wasn’t there. And since she didn’t have a car or even a spot in the carpark, she wouldn’t have a good excuse. No, it was much easier to just take the bus. 

Even without her explanations, Ron seemed content with her form of travel and nodded her on. 

“Then I’ve got work until three, and I probably won’t make it back until 3:30. And, well, that’s my plan.”

“Should I meet you back here at 3:30, then?”

“Yes,” responded Hermione. “That would be nice.” She didn’t want to ask him to come over, she already felt like she was being needy. So, she was happy that he suggested it. 

After finishing breakfast and Hermione gathering her lessons and papers, the pair walked down to the bus stop and kissed farewell. Promising to see each other later that day. 

* * *

Hermione's first day back had gone surprisingly well. There were no panic attacks or flashbacks. She easily slipped back into being Jane, Miss. Darling, and Missus. There were only a few times when her change in appearance was even noted. Since she had a new class, none of her current students knew that she looked different. A few times she had passed an old pupil in the hall, and they did not recognise her until she (re)introduced herself. She only had to be around the other teachers during the early morning meeting, deciding it was best to take her lunch in her classroom. Only one teacher at the staff meeting said anything. Though Hermione was expecting this; Shirley was never one to ignore something that could potentially lead to gossip. 

Shirley had taken her aside and bombarded her with questions.  _ Who did her hair? Why did she choose brown? (blonde seemed to suit her better, after all). What made her make the change? She looked different. Was there a new man in her life?  _

The questions came so fast, that Hermione didn’t have time to answer them. All except the last one, which Shirley hung on, waiting for Hermione to answer. As soon as Hermione reluctantly nodded, Shirley went on another tirade. Apparently Shirley “knew it”, Hermione was glowing (well, as Shirley said it, Hermione looked  _ well-shagged _ ). Thankfully, before any more too-personal questions could be asked, the meeting began, and Hermione made it a point to avoid Shirley for the rest of the day. 

Hermione had set up for the next day and gathered her things. The last hour of work had been the toughest one. Not because of her mental health or rowdy students. No, because she couldn’t seem to keep her mind off of Ron. As she took her seat on the bus, she let herself think all of the thoughts she had been suppressing. 

She thought about the progression of their relationship. Which, to her, seemed to have just happened. Would they be expected to start up where they were before? Where were they before? After all, they had barely gone on a first date. But, they had also done so much more. 

She urged her mind to stay away from all that happened after their date. She didn’t need to start crying or screaming or whatever-ing on the bus. The truth was, she had done her best to keep those moments out of her brain. She had no idea how she would react to them. 

She tried to get her mind to get back to the topic. To Ron. She did say  _ I love you _ the night before. Was that too soon? He  _ had  _ said it back. And then he said he would meet her after work. But, surely he had his own work to contend with. He normally didn’t get out until after five. So, she would have time at her flat before he arrived. Time to do what, though?

She wondered if the other bus goers could see her blush creeping over her face. Or the fact that she kept shifting her legs and crossing and recrossing her legs out of anxiety. 

She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she almost missed her stop. 

She got out of the bus and looked up at her building with a sigh. She was really a mess, wasn’t she? 

She had three flights of stairs to walk to get to her flat. She spent the time analysing the last two days with Ron. By the time she made it to her door, she wished she had just apparated. Her hair was falling out of its bun, curls falling on to her face, and sticking to her forehead, which had started to break out in a sweat. 

She had talked herself out of Ron being in her flat by the time she arrived and was now planning on taking a long bath as soon as she got in her flat. 

But, much to her surprise, Ron was there. He was standing in her sitting room, awkwardly wringing his hands together. 

She didn’t know if it was the shock of seeing him or the fact that she had been ruminating about this moment for the last half hour, but she dropped her bag and ran to him. Swiftly crushing her lips onto his. 

Ron reciprocated in kind, wrapping his arms around her body. Their snogging quickly escalated, Ron breaking their mouths to kiss her neck. He moved his mouth along her neck and onto her pulse point. He knew exactly what she liked.

She went to take off his shirt but was disappointed to find that it was not a button-up, and in order to remove it, she would also have to remove his arms. Which she did not want to do. Especially now that they were exploring her body. One of them resting on her thigh and moving upward. 

“Bedroom?”, she whispered breathily. 

Ron did not verbally respond, but he began moving the pair to her bedroom. Their discarded clothes creating a trail in their wake. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW-PTSD, anxiety, panic attacks, flashbacks but no direct mention of assault

_ She was trapped.  _ She needed to get out. She needed to get to Ron.  _ Ron.  _ He was screaming her name as crucio was cast over and over again. Was it hitting her or him? Both of them? She was in such a state of panic that she couldn’t tell. Stale breath wafted over her. She shut her eyes, but still, she could see. Those beady eyes looking over her. Taunting her. 

“Hermione”

She could barely hear him over her own screams now reverberating out of her. 

“Hermione, wake up.”

Suddenly she was thrust into brightness. The light in her room blinded her. She pushed and screamed, begging for escape. It took her a moment to realise where she was. That the man on top of her was Ron, trying to soothe her, trying to placate her. He was rubbing her arm and caressing her hair. Whispering how everything was okay, it was just a nightmare. 

She felt sick. 

Hermione sat up urgently, unintentionally pushing Ron off of her. She was covered in sweat, her breath still laboured, apparently not having caught up to her brain. She  _ was  _ going to be sick. She leaned over her bed, where, just in time, Ron had magicked a basin. He held her hair back, continuing to whisper calming phrases. 

She magicked the basin away and cleaned her mouth, as Ron made his way to her side, standing above her sitting form. 

“Shhh,” he said gently, bringing her head to his stomach. 

At first, she didn’t know why he was quieting her. But then she realised. She was crying. Sobbing really. Sobs racked her body like they hadn’t in years. She hadn’t had a good cry for a while, and it was like all of her tears had been saving themselves for this moment, overflowing endlessly. 

The previous evening had been so magical. Ron and Hermione spent their time like the rebellious 18-year-olds they once were; spending the whole evening in bed, flirting, eating, and not-talking. But they weren’t 18 years old anymore. No,  _ this  _ was their reality. Trauma and night terrors and the overwhelmingness of it all. 

Ron kneeled down so that her head now rested comfortably in the nape of his neck. Her sobs not seeming to stop anytime soon. 

She looked at him, his shoulder as her pillow and his strong arms around her. How did he get through it all? How had he survived the terror? She had him, after all, but he hadn’t had her. From what she could gather, he hadn’t coped well. The mini tour of his flat only solidified that; all of the alcohol bottles and the emptiness of it. He  _ hadn’t  _ coped. 

All of this was far too familiar to Hermione. Waking up from nightmares terrified, the flashbacks, jumping when someone sneaked up on her. All of these began to happen after the war. The fear centered around her time at Malfoy Manor. Even as Jane, she had nightmares, but they never made any sense, just leaving her confused and scared. But her time as Jane had given her some insight into her predicament. 

She had spent so much time being analysed by psychiatrists. They had asked her the same questions about her symptoms, over and over, trying to put a name to what she was going through. And she knew what the nightmares, flashbacks, and jumpy-ness meant; Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. She hadn’t been diagnosed as Jane because she didn’t quite meet the requirements; her symptoms were too vague, and her psychiatrists were too focused on her memory loss. But she was clear now. She had PTSD. And anxiety. And panic attacks. 

_ How was she going to get through all of this? _

Eventually, she ran out of tears, and after being held by Ron for a bit of time after, it was time to try to go back to sleep. Ron took his place next to her and she turned to hold his hand. 

She wanted to ask him about all of this. About how he dealt with everything. Was he okay, even now? But no words came out. Instead, she cuddled closer to him, trying to use the sound of his steady heartbeat to calm her. It was too late in the night to take a potion; she had to be up in a couple of hours. So she was going to have to try the old-fashioned way. 

Her alarm rang out what seemed to be seconds later. She had a fitful sleep, exhausted by her sadness, but not enough to sleep well. She quickly reached over to turn off her alarm, Ron was still asleep, and she didn’t want to wake him. 

She tip-toed to the loo, bringing her work clothes with her, so she wouldn’t have to bother Ron by going back to her room. She analysed her appearance in the mirror. The first thing she noticed was her wild hair, sticking up in all different directions from a poor night’s sleep. But, she was used to that, and could easily fix it with some water and product. Next, she leaned towards the mirror, focusing on her face. There were deep, dark purple circles under her eyes, which were barely visible under the puffiness of her face. Her eyes were bloodshot and looked like they hadn’t slept in years. At least she could magically fix her appearance. She wasn’t much good at cosmetic spells, but she had gotten quite good at covering up signs of crying over the years. 

Hermione finished getting ready and peeked her head in her room to check on Ron before she left. He was still fast asleep, having stretched out onto the full size of the bed in Hermione's absence. 

She thought she should at least leave a note, so as not to worry him when he woke up alone. She could only imagine his panic if he woke up with her missing, especially after the night before. So, she grabbed some stationary (blue, of course) and began to write. 

_ Dear Ron, _

She was at a loss for words. In her head, she could hear his voice  _ “Hermione, lost for words? Impossible,”  _ and chuckled. Even without him here, he could make her feel better. 

_ Thank you for staying last night.  _

That was so simple. There was so much more that she wanted to say. But, she just couldn’t figure out how to say it. 

_ I figured you could use a lie-in, and I’ve headed off to work.  _

She debated telling him that she got off of work at the same time as the day before. She didn’t want to make him feel like he had to stay or he had to take care of her. Though, she knew that he would do it in a second. It was one of the hard parts of transitioning back to Hermione. When she was Jane, she just had herself. And she got used to that. It became  _ comfortable.  _ But now she had Ron. Not just Ron, an entire family, that would do anything for her. It would take her some time, she thought, before this became comfortable. 

_ Love, _

_ Hermione _

It was short and sweet and didn’t say nearly any of what she wanted to. But, it would have to do, she would miss her bus if she didn't leave soon. She placed the note next to him, debating giving him a kiss, but thought against it. She had been so good at not waking him so far, why mess that up?

She went to leave, turning back to look at him. She had so much to be thankful for. And he was at the centre of it all. 

* * *

Work hadn’t gone as smoothly as Hermione had hoped. With the combination of sleep deprivation and stress, she was especially on edge. Her lectures were all over the place; with her constantly losing her place or forgetting what she was talking about. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part of her day happened when a pupil came to ask her a question in between classes. Her back was turned, so he tapped her on her shoulder. This caused her to let out a scream in surprise. Which caused him to scream in surprise. Overall, it was a rotten day, and she was ready to go home and relax. 

Though, knowing herself, she wouldn’t be able to relax until she had some sort of plan in motion. She racked her brain trying to think of what wizards do when they needed mental health care. She couldn’t remember mentions of therapists or mind healers in her textbooks. There was never any discussion of mental health at Hogwarts, beyond the use of calming drought. Even Saint Mungo’s didn’t have a wing for mental health. After much thought, she had decided her first step was to write to Healer Stoica and see what he suggested. 

Finally having lugged herself up the three flights of stairs to her flat, Hermione unlocked her door with her game plan in mind. But her plan was halted when she saw Ron was waiting for her on her couch. 

She assumed that he would still be at work and wouldn’t see him until later, if even at all. She recalled how he reacted to her experiencing his night terrors, and was worried that he wouldn’t want to see her at all, after last night. 

But there he was, sitting on her couch, appearing to be reading one of the books from her extensive collection. 

“What are you reading?”, she asked, joining him on the couch. 

“I have no idea,” Ron said with a smile, placing the unread book onto the side table. “How was your day?”

“Good,” she lied. “How was yours?”

“Good, I eventually woke up and made it to WWW for a bit.”

“I hope I’m not getting you in trouble for leaving early,” she said with concern. 

“Nonsense,” he said, waving her off. “I practically am co-owner now. Plus, they don’t really need me there.”

Hermione nodded and moved closer to Ron. 

“Mum wants us to pop by for dinner, but only if you’re up for it,” Ron said with a sympathetic look. 

“That’d be good. I still need to do the shopping, there isn’t much to eat here. Plus, I need to get my things.” There was something else Hermione needed to do, and this could be the perfect opportunity. “Do you think I could possibly borrow an owl?”

“Yeah, I’m sure you could,” Ron paused, considering if he should press her for more detail. “What do you need it for?”

“I thought I’d write to Healer Stoica, to see if he had any ideas on someone I could see here. Hopefully to help work through, erm, everything.”

Ron nodded but didn’t look if he quite understood. Hermione knew that this was the perfect opportunity to press him about his experience. She didn’t want to bring up bad memories or make him worse. But, she was genuinely concerned with what he had been through and how he was dealing with it. She hoped that talking about it would help. 

“Did you see anyone, after everything happened?”, she hesitantly asked. 

“What do you mean?”

Hermione tried to figure out how she could explain therapists to someone who had never heard of one. 

“Did you see a healer for your mind?”, she asked. “Someone who could help you work through everything? Someone who could help you cope?”

“Not really,” Ron responded. Seeing Hermione's disappointment, he continued on. “I mean the healers gave me plenty of calming drought when I first got back. I could barely think straight, they gave me so much.”, he said with a dark chuckle. “Of course, they also offered to wipe my memories.”

“And you didn’t?”, Hermione asked though she was fairly sure she knew the answer. 

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Well, they were the last-,” Ron stopped himself. Rethinking what he was saying, he quietly added: “I needed them to help find you. I needed to remember the details.”

Silence sat heavily between them, both trying to come to terms with the gravity of what he said. 

“Not that it helped,” he added. 

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t exactly find you, did I?”, he said, his face twisted in a look of self-hatred. 

Hermione thought of what she could say to help him feel better. But, as was becoming so common recently, she was at a loss for words. Of course, it wasn’t his fault for not finding her. It wasn’t his fault for the whole situation at all. After all, she was the one who took the portkey in the first place. She could tell him all of this, but she had a feeling that it wouldn’t do much in terms of easing his guilt. 

“If I find a therapist- a mind healer- that works, do you think you would see them too? So we both could work on-“, she thought carefully about the next word she said, “healing together?

“Yeah,” said Ron, apparently not having to think hard on his answer. He took her hand that had been resting on the head of the couch, which caused her to smile. They sat in silence for a bit longer, Hermione not quite sure of how long, her exhaustion making time seem less linear. 

“Do you think you’ll have them take your memories?”, Ron said, barely above a whisper. 

Hermione thought about this. She had gone so long without her memories, it was hard to imagine going back. Of course, they would only take the really horrible memories. But, she would know that she was missing memories. She would know that horrible things had happened. The only difference would be that she wouldn’t have the details. She likely would want to get them back, eventually. To  _ know _ . After all, was she really better off without her memories? Before, she still had nightmares, she still lived in fear. She just didn’t know why. No, it would be better to know. She would just have to find a way to work through them. 

“No,” she said, shaking her head. 

* * *

Hermione had fallen asleep in Ron’s arms shortly after their conversation. She wasn’t sure if he had fallen asleep too, or if he just held her. After a couple of hours, he gently woke her up to head to the burrow. 

She fixed her hair and changed into something more casual, suddenly feeling apprehensive of her reunion with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. This would be the first time they really talked since she had  _ come back _ . Would they be excited to reminisce? Or would they pity her, careful not to bring up anything that could cause her distress? How much did they know about her and Ron’s kidnapping? Had they seen his memories? 

She shook off her impeding thoughts and took Ron’s hand to apparate to the burrow. 

Thankfully, the dinner had been full of joy, with not a sign of pity to be seen. George, Angelina, and baby Fred joined them, adding to the excitement and humour. While there were a few quips from George about Hermione and Ron _hiding away_ _together,_ nothing had been mentioned about trauma or anything that wasn’t proper dinner conversation. 

The Weasley’s let Hermione use their owl, with no questions asked, and she mailed her letter to Hr. Stoica. 

After spending a very long time lingering on the bits of pudding left, enjoying the company and conversation, it was time for Hermione to grab her suitcase and head back to her flat. 

Ron joined her, though she didn’t need help carrying the measly trunk she had packed. As soon as the door closed in Ginny’s room, and they were alone, Ron began talking, well, mumbling really. 

“Erm, I was thinking,” he said as he brushed his hair out of his face, something Hermione noticed he tended to do when he was anxious.

Hermione nodded him on. 

“I’ve kinda been staying at yours,” he started. “And, if it’s okay with you, and you’d like me to stay”, he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth. “Well, it’d be nice if I could get a few things from my flat.”

Hermione smiled, partially because he was inviting himself over to hers, and partially because of how nervous it made him. 

“I’d be alright with that,” she said, her small smile threatening to become a full-fledged grin. 

“Great!”, he said, a little too enthusiastically. “I would invite you to stay at mine, but it’s a bit depressing. I like yours a lot more.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. 

“Especially your bedroom.”

Hermione raised her eyebrow.

“Not because-,” he frantically added. “Erm. I like it because it’s the only place in your flat with colour. It feels homier.”

“I understand,” Hermione responded with a chuckle. She liked that room the best too. Not because it was homey or because it had colour. No, it was because of the  _ specific  _ colour it was. The colour that now, whenever she saw it, reminded her of her favourite person. Of Ron.    
  



	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Reverence back to sexual assault, but no direct mention or details

Hermione gathered her things and apparated with Ron to his dreary flat. He excused himself to his room to get his things. Which left Hermione on his couch, with much too much time to think. 

One thing that kept echoing in her head was a question that Arthur had asked her during supper. He asked if she was going to continue teaching at a muggle school, or if she going to work in the wizarding world. It was an innocent enough question, but it was one that set her on edge. Chiefly, because she had no answer for it. 

When she had been introduced to the magical world, not a month ago, it was all so overwhelming. She thought she might pursue a magical career eventually. But, back then, she was barely able to cast even the most rudimentary spells. She figured it would be years before working in the wizarding world would even become an option. 

Not only that but, as Hermione, she had thought little of what she wanted to do with her life. She had decided pretty early on that she would not go to university (much to her parents' disconcertment) and would work in the wizarding world. In her early years at Hogwarts, she had toyed with many different career paths; Professor, Ministry of Magic employee, Wizengamot Solicitor. But, as she grew, and her future began to become more and more uncertain, she forced herself to push the thoughts of her future out of her mind. 

It wasn’t until the war was over that she allowed herself to plan her future. But, she wasn’t any more sure than she had been at 11. She was planning on going back to Hogwarts to finish her education. After that, she wasn’t certain. She hoped that another year at Hogwarts would help to clarify things. 

She wanted to go into a helping profession. Something having to do with magical creatures and their rights seemed to fit. But now, she just didn’t know. She still wanted to help, but there were so many ways to do that. Plus, she had changed a lot in the last five years. Whether or not she liked it. 

She  _ did  _ enjoy her job now. But, she felt like she needed to be doing more. Not that teaching English wasn’t enough. Maybe it just wasn’t enough for her. 

Could she even get a job at the ministry now? She hadn’t any N.E.W.T’s, after all. She didn’t think that being a war hero would help her get the jobs she wanted. Could she go back to Hogwarts? After everything? That really didn’t seem like a valid option. 

If she were to get a job in the Ministry, would she even be needed? Maybe there were laws now that protected house-elves and other creatures. She made a mental note about checking on any laws that had been made in the time that she was gone. 

She looked at her watch; Ron was taking his sweet time, and now she had to use the loo. She didn’t want to interrupt him and cause him to lose his focus, so she decided to just find the loo herself. 

She walked up the staircase, and having seen him go to the right, she went to the door on the left, assuming that it was the loo. Upon opening the door, she could tell that she was incorrect. 

The room was small and dark, an apparent theme of his flat. But, unlike the rest of his flat, this room was filled to the brim with things. Curiosity overtaking her, Hermione turned on a light to see better. 

Upon seeing the room's items, she gasped. There she was, staring back at her current self, in no less than 20 pictures hanging on the walls. But, the pictures weren’t just of her. Most of them seemed to be clippings of articles; with words circled and parts cut out. Next to her pictures were other articles, or other pictures, lines drawn on them, and on the wall to connect them. 

The sight was jarring, but she felt an urge to move closer. She walked up to one of the closer clippings and picked it off of the wall. It was from a wizard paper, with her picture moving and smiling, two arms around her. The people who the arms belonged to had been cut out of the clipping. However, Hermione recognized the photo; it was one of Harry, Ron, and herself in 4th year after Gryffindor had won a game. Ron and Harry had been cut out of this photo. She glanced at the caption;

_ Golden Trio No More? Rumours Swirl as Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley are Presumed Dead.  _

Her stomach dropped, this must have been written when she and Ron had been kidnapped. She went to read the rest of the article, when she noticed Ron in the corner of her eye, making her jump. 

“Sorry,” he said, presumably for scaring her. 

“It’s alright,” she responded. “I was looking for the loo, and I stumbled in here, and I-“.

“It's okay,” he said. “I probably would have shown you this room anyway.”

“Oh,” she responded quietly. She put the picture back on the wall. “And what exactly is this room?” She had an idea, but she wanted to hear his description. 

Ron looked around, trying to find the right words. He walked past Hermione to the far wall, where the entire wall was covered with clipping, pictures, and theories. 

“It’s how I coped,” he replied, answering her question that she asked earlier that day. “This is where I collected everything after the aurors.” He picked up a picture with a big red “x” on it and ripped it in two. “All of my dead leads.” 

“You never said what happened with the aurors.” Hermione knew she was prying, but she didn’t care. She  _ needed _ to know what happened when she was gone. 

“Yeah, I-,” his words trailed off. “It was rough,” he was no longer looking at Hermione, no longer looking at anything really. He was staring at the wall, lost in his reverie. 

“Like you know, as soon as I was released from Saint Mungo’s and stopped taking the calming drought, I was determined to find you. I was put on a special force with Harry, to find you and the death eaters responsible. Most of them were dead by the time Harry arrived and found me.” 

Hermione did not know about the death eaters. But, she really didn’t know much about any of what happened. She hung on every word Ron said, desperate to learn more about his past, about their past. 

“There were still some to find and some to interrogate,” he continued. “I think that was my first mark against me. They didn’t want me to interrogate any of them. But I did. And, it didn’t go well.” Ron had crushed the article in his hand, dropping its crumbled remains on the floor. 

Hermione wondered if she wanted to know what Ron had done during the interrogations. She had an idea and wasn’t sure she wanted him to confirm her speculations. She didn’t have time to ask, as Ron continued on, words now falling out of his mouth uncontrollably. 

“They kept trying to get me to give them my memories. You know, to help find you. They needed that information, too. I knew, as soon as they got them, that would be it. It would be over. So I gave as many excuses as I could,” he paused, apparently not wanting to say what he was going to say next. “Eventually, they won, and saw everything.”

Hermione thought about what that meant. Ron would likely have to go with whoever was watching his memories, to help explain what was happening. His last words echoed in her mind. _ Everything.  _ Whoever was with him saw everything. The horror of thinking of Ron reliving that was replaced with the horror of Harry seeing it as well. 

“Who saw them?”, she whispered. 

“It was just Lead Auror Sarraf, I made sure it was just one other person with me.”

_ Thank Merlin for small victories.  _

“The next day our force had been disbanded; we had caught all of the death eaters responsible. And you, well they didn’t need to look for you anymore, did they?”, Ron’s face was twisted, and he was just about spitting in anger. “I knew it was coming, but I still lost it. I  _ knew  _ you were still alive. Most of them were already pretty mad at me for elongating everything when they felt like we didn’t need to. I was almost fired on the spot. But, Harry and Kingsley stuck up for me, and I was assigned to desk duty.” Ron paused, struggling to relive these moments. 

“I knew I wouldn’t last much longer, so I began compiling everything I could about your case, I even snuck in one night and got your folder. Eventually, I just couldn’t do it anymore, and I had all I needed, so I made them fire me.”

“What did you do?”, Hermione asked before she was aware she was doing so. 

“I punched one of the other aurors.”

“Ron!”, Hermione reprimanded. She was shocked at his behaviour. It was so unlike him. And so physical _.  _

“He was a twat, you should have heard how he talked about you when he thought I wasn’t there,” he said, his anger evident in his face. “He deserved it, and I got what I wanted.”

What he wanted. To be fired. Why would he want such a thing? Why couldn’t he have just resigned? She looked up at him. He was purposefully avoiding her eyes, looking down at the crumpled paper at his feet. She felt bad for pushing all of this out of him. But, there was something else she just couldn’t shake. A question she had had since she had learned of the whole ordeal. 

“One thing I don’t understand,” she said softly, hoping her tone would help to calm him. “You said you saw a death eater cast the  _ killing curse _ on me.”

“I did,” he said forcefully, finally making eye contact with her. 

“I believe you,” she said reassuringly. “It’s just, how is it possible? I mean, I’m alive.” 

Ron’s eyes moved back to the ground. 

“Maybe it was like Harry,” he suggested. 

“Perhaps.” This was something that Hermione had considered. But, it didn’t quite add up. “Though, no one sacrificed themselves for me.” She saw him hunch down lower when he heard this. She moved over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. It was very chaste for a couple, but it seemed to lighten him, somewhat. 

“I know you would have if you could.” 

Ron’s eyes glanced up, and she could see the extent of hurt he was feeling. She wrapped her arms around him. For the first time, she felt like he was smaller than her. After holding each other for some time, she had an idea. 

“Do you know which death eater did it?”, she asked him, her head still resting on his chest. 

“Yeah”

“And you’ve caught him right? Maybe we could interview him?”, her excitement was starting to grow. 

“He was one of the ones that was dead when Harry arrived.”

Her excitement was quickly squashed. 

“We only know because I recognized him; it was the really short one. And because his wand had cast the killing curse.”

“Do you think they still have his wand?”, she said, thinking, perhaps, there was another way to solve this mystery. 

“Yeah, they keep all of the wands of criminals locked up in the aurors office.”

“Maybe we, or someone, could see what other spells he cast? It could give us an idea if something was wrong.”

She could feel him shaking his head in agreement. 

“He might have also been the one to alter my memory. Maybe we can find out what spell was cast.”

“That’s a great idea,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ll ask Harry to do it as soon as he gets back.”

She looked up at him and was surprised to see that he was smiling.

“What?”, she asked, curious as to why his expression had changed. 

“You’re brilliant. If we had you on our force we would have found you five years ago.” 

* * *

They had made their way back to Hermione's flat, anxious to get away from the bad vibes of Ron’s secret room. For as much time as he took, Ron had packed sensibly and did not bring much with him. 

Hermione felt unsure if she should make space for his things. She could easily clear out a drawer or two. Would that be too presumptuous of her? He hadn’t said he was moving in, but he also didn’t say how long he was going to stay. She decided to wait to see if he asked, so it wouldn’t seem like she assumed anything. 

One of the things that Ron did bring with him was a generous amount of sleeping drought, which Hermione now took nightly. She decided she would stop once she was seeing a therapist, but she was still waiting for a response from Stoica. So, in the meantime, her sleep was dreamless and terror-free. 

It was still a week until Harry and Ginny got back from their honeymoon, so talking to Harry about Hermione's theory would have to wait as well. For now, Ron and Hermione were in a sort of in-between time; going through the motions of their daily lives, waiting for things to happen. 

One of the things that marked this liminal in-between time was the notable lack of paparazzi. After the war, it was one of the things she despised most. Anytime she had left the confines of the burrow to go somewhere in the magical world she was ambushed by reporters and fans and looky-loos. But, that hadn’t been the case recently. In fact, she hadn’t seen a single reporter since she had entered back into the wizarding world. Not even at Harry’s wedding. 

She had mentioned this to Ron over dinner one night and was met with a dark laugh. He explained to her that that was all Harry’s doing. After Ron’s “outburst” at the aurors, the reporters had a field day. Even before that, they had been ruthless, especially with Ron in regards to Hermione's disappearance. There were nasty rumours that he was involved somehow; that he was unhinged. And his behaviour after she was declared dead did not help change the rumours. 

It got to the point that Ron and Harry could no longer leave their homes without being bombarded. One day, Harry had had it. He went to the Wizengamot and demanded change. With his fame and his rising position at the aurors, he was taken seriously. So, laws were put into place disallowing paparazzi, liable, and unofficial accounts. It wasn’t perfect, but it helped to diminish the power that unreliable reporters had. 

Ron went on to explain that Hermione had been in the papers, recently. But since they couldn’t post pictures without her permission, and speculation was not allowed, there wasn’t much to write about. Ron had a full grin on his face by the time he was recounting the defeat of “reporters” like Rita Skeeter. 

Hermione, once again, found herself feeling gratitude towards her friend. She knew that Harry did not enjoy being written about or followed by star-struck fans, but he was used to it. She knew that his actions to stop these practices were more for Ron than anyone. She was grateful to know that Harry had continued to protect Ron, even in her absence. Though, she never would have doubted his love for his best friend. 

She was reminded of the night that she had gone to the ministry’s library. She wanted to see what, if any, laws had been created in regards to magical creatures. She was pleasantly surprised to find that a law had passed giving house-elves more freedoms. They could leave any position they were not happy in, they were required to be paid (a measly amount, but it was better than nothing), and they were required to be provided clothing by their masters. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a huge improvement to the almost nonexistent laws that had existed before. While skimming the list of proponents of the law, her heart leaped, seeing that Harry had fought and argued passionately for this law to be passed. 

Ron was still talking, even through Hermione's reminiscing. But, he got her attention when he mentioned Kingsley. Ron added that the ministry, Kingsley especially, had wanted to talk to her, about her experience and about her future plans. But, Ron and the Weasley’s had kept him at bay, saying that Hermione would talk to him when she was ready. 

Ron added this as if it was unimportant, just a side note to their larger conversation. But, Hermione felt the gravity of his statement. She would eventually need to talk to Kingsley. To tell him what she went through and to talk about her future plans. She didn’t know which one was more daunting; she didn’t want to relive her past, but she had no clue about her plans for her future. 

* * *

Hermione was woken by her alarm but was still in a state of half-sleep. Her mind wandered to the evening the pair had shared not a week before. Since then, there had been no repeats; only chaste kisses and cuddles before sleep. She worried that something had gone wrong, that maybe he was rethinking their relationship altogether. He seemed so hesitant to touch her now. She wondered if it had to do with her nightmare; if he was afraid he would trigger her somehow. 

It was a legitimate enough worry and one that Hermione had as well. Their night of passion had been so overwhelming that she didn’t have time to process what was going on, overcome with emotion. But, if it were to happen again, would that be the case? Or would she be sent back to her time in the cellar, suddenly sickened by his touch?

This was something she had worried about as Jane as well and talked to her past therapists with. They all had their own ways of helping her cope and deal with the situation. But, it never got to that. She never invited anyone to her flat and had only gone on a couple of unsuccessful dates. 

This had come up in conversation that passionate night, sometime between lovemaking and eating pizza in bed (realising that they had worked up an appetite, but not wanting to leave each other or the bed that held them). 

Ron had inquired about her “past lovers”, which Hermione found hilarious. She explained to him how it’s hard to date when you don’t know who you are.  _ Where’d you grow up? How many siblings do you have? What primary school did you go to?  _ Questions about one's past were abundant in a first date conversation. 

At first, she had tried making up answers. But lies lead to more lies, which lead to more lies. And they became exhausting to keep up with. She recalled one such date where she had said she grew up in York. Much to her terror, her date had exclaimed that he grew up in York too! It was a dreadful night, having to explain the truth and her date suddenly realising he had an exam the next day and he had to leave early. 

But, if she was honest with herself, it wasn’t just the sorry conversations that kept her from having a real relationship. Or at least having sex. There were plenty of men who didn’t care about who she was or where she came from and would have easily accepted an invite to her flat.

The truth was that she was scared. Not so much of intimacy, but of people. Not only did she not know herself, but she also didn’t know others. She didn’t know who she could trust. More importantly, she didn’t know if the person she passed on the street was involved with her predicament. When she lived as Jane, anyone could be a villain, and she had no way of deciphering who was good and who was out to get her. 

She had told Ron this, feeling more vulnerable than she had before. Which was significant, considering what they had been doing moments before. She quickly tried changing the subject, pestering him about his past escapades. 

His face immediately dropped when she asked this question, and she wondered how she could change the subject. But, before she could, he spoke up. 

He told her of one night, years into her disappearance when he had gotten especially  _ plastered.  _ He was still a war hero, and it was easy to find someone to take home. He did as such, but couldn’t get past snogging. He ended up yelling at this poor woman and making her leave. He noted with a dark smile that the Daily Prophet had a field day with that. 

Hermione was waiting for the other shoe to drop. But, that was it. Over the entire last five years, he had snogged one woman. And he felt terrible about it. He told her how he didn’t leave his flat for days after that. He even apologised to Hermione. 

She couldn’t think of a reason for him to apologise. He thought she had been dead (even if he was trying to convince himself otherwise). Plus he had only kissed one person. Even if he had dated all of the women, or settled down and started a family with someone else, she couldn’t be mad at him. Though she knew she would be heartbroken. He did nothing wrong, and there was nothing for him to be sorry about. She told him as much but didn’t seem to convince him. 

She ended up taking his hand and looking him in the eyes. She told him that it didn’t matter what happened in the past, what was important was that they were together  _ now.  _

Hermione was almost fully awake now, willing herself to stay in her daydream. There was one downside to having a dreamless sleep; no good dreams.

She was jolted awake with a gasp, as a realisation hit her. 

“Wasup,” Ron slurred, still partially asleep himself, but now concerned for Hermione. 

When they had been together all of those years ago in Ron’s attic bedroom, she had been the one to do  _ the spell.  _ Either one of them could have performed it, but it just made sense that Hermione would do it since she was better with spells and was always prepared. 

_ Always prepared.  _

Well, that wasn’t true now, was it? She hadn’t done the spell during their recent rendezvous. She hadn’t even thought of it. How could she have been so stupid? Even muggles have to plan their contraceptives. But, she was so caught up in the moment, in Ron, it just hadn’t occurred to her. 

“Did you have a bad dream?”, Ron asked, now turned towards her and fully awake. 

“No”, she shook her head. 

“Ron,” she said in a small voice. “The other day, when we...did you, I mean, did you do the spell?” 

She wasn’t sure why she couldn't just come out and say what she needed to say. But suddenly, she felt like a shy little 18-year-old, unsure of herself and not about to say things like  _ sex  _ or  _ contraceptive spell _ . 

“I, erm,” Ron started, a bit taken back by her question. “No, I didn’t. I figured you did.”

She shook her head, avoiding his eyes. She had another week or so before she was supposed to get her period. The same amount of time before she could get a test. They would have to continue to do what they have been doing this past week; wait. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: alcoholism/mention of overdose

Ron suggested inviting George and Angelina over for dinner, which Hermione enthusiastically agreed to, needing any distraction possible. And distract them they did. George and Angelina were probably the best dinner guests one could ask for when one needed to be distracted. Of course, they were hilarious, their tales seeming to take on a life of their own, only plausible when told by the pair. Not only that; they radiated love. It was clear that they were meant for each other. 

Angelina talked of how excited she was to get out of the house and have a  _ grown-up  _ dinner, having obtained a sitter for Fred. They brought their best wine, which Hermione pretended to sip, not wanting to be rude. As the evening progressed, the stories moved from Angelina and George’s adventures to George and Ron’s. 

Ron and George had grown exceptionally close over the years. They cheerfully retold tales of the shop, almost in sync. Hermione could have sworn FredandGeorge were back together if she wasn’t paying close attention. 

After they left, Hermione and Ron tiredly cleaned up, worn out from the evening’s festivities. They finally finished, and crashed, exhausted, in their bed.

“It’s great that you and George are so close,” Hermione said. As was becoming routine, they spent their last few moments of each day talking and holding one another until they fell asleep. It wasn’t as intimate as Hermione desired, but still, she looked forward to these moments all day. 

“Yeah,” Ron said contently. 

“It seems like you enjoy working together at the shop.” 

“I do. I mean George is great, but there are a lot of things that I enjoy about working there; getting to create new products, figure out how to advertise them. I even like balancing the books,” he added with a chuckle. 

“That’s great,” Hermione said with a smile.  _ Maybe some good things had come from her disappearance _ . “I guess it’s good that you decided to work there.”

“I didn’t exactly choose.”

“What do you mean?”

“He made me,” Ron said, no longer chuckling. “He saved me,” he added quietly. 

Hermione felt her breath hitch; anticipating what Ron might say next. 

“You know things had gotten worse after I was kicked out of the aurors.”

She nodded her head, curling up to his chest. She wanted to feel closer to him, but she also wanted to give him the ability not to have to look in her eyes. She knew that recalling this time was hard for him, even if it was in the past. 

“Well, I didn't say exactly how bad it got.”

Hermione knew this to be true. She knew that it had been worse than how Ron had described. Their friends only alluding to his depression and alcoholism. 

“They had begun taking turns checking on me; Harry, George, Neville. Harry had even tried to get me to move in with him. He was technically already living with Ginny, but she was always gone for games. I knew I should have, but I didn’t. Mum always said I had a destructive side to me,” he said the last sentence with a twisted smile as if not caring for himself was the same as breaking a vase or missing curfew. 

“One of the days that George was supposed to check on me, I guess he got caught up with something at work and was later than normal. Well, when he got to my place…”, Ron’s demeanour had grown more and more deflated, seeming to sink further into the bed as he talked. 

“I mean at that point I was always drinking. It wasn’t on purpose,” he paused, staring at the ceiling. “but I had…”, his voice cracked before he could finish his sentence. However, Hermione knew what he was implying. He had overdosed. 

“Ron,” Hermione whispered, moving her hand to his chest. She hadn’t meant to interrupt him, but this was too much. She could picture him, on that dusty old armchair, a bottle in his limp hand, his pulse barely beating. She didn’t know when the tears began, but they did not stop. She sobbed quietly into his chest, trying to soothe him and herself at the same time. Eventually, Ron found his voice again and continued his story. 

“After that, he wouldn’t let me leave his sight. He found me a place next to his and made me come to the shop every day. Even if I stayed in the back the whole time, he made sure I was eating and made sure I wasn’t drinking as much.”

“I didn't stop completely, but it never got that bad again. In fact,” he said in realisation, “since you’ve been back, I haven’t had anything to drink. Not even at Harry’s wedding.”

Hermione thought his claim through. She didn’t recall him drinking at the wedding; she didn’t remember him drinking at all. Even during dinner, he hadn't had any of George and Angelina’s wine. She wasn’t even sure he was offered any. She was so caught up in her own worry of not wanting to seem rude, but also not wanting to actually drink, that she hadn’t paid attention. 

She knew that him not drinking this past month didn’t mean that he was healed. He still had things to work through. And people relapse all the time. But, she was proud of him for getting out of the dark place he was in. She thought of George, who had helped him so much. He likely went through a similar experience, after losing Fred. Their shared trauma of losing their other half was probably one of the reasons they had bonded so strongly. 

* * *

Harry and Ginny were  _ finally _ back from their honeymoon, and Molly was holding a welcome back dinner. Hermione was excited to see the pair and actually catch up. Though they had been reminiscing for a month, Hermione didn’t feel like she was really there. As Jane, she couldn’t recall what they were talking about. Now, she could remember,  _ and  _ she could be a part of the conversations. 

Dinner felt more like a small party, with George, Angelina, Neville, Hannah, Luna, and their children joining them. Hermione was glad she was able to catch up with Neville and Hannah over dinner, feeling a bit bad about not staying in touch since she became Hermione again. She had been meaning to write them a letter or email or something, letting them know she was back and thanking them for her help, but she never got around to it. 

She was entranced in their love story; how they got together during their last year at Hogwarts and had been together since. They bonded over a love of Herbology and flirted demurely during DA meetings, eventually getting together at the end of the year. She couldn’t ignore the similarities between theirs and hers and Ron’s love story, maybe that’s why she loved it so much. She was pleasantly surprised to find that Hannah wasn’t quite as  _ enthusiastic  _ as she had been when they first met. Hannah had explained that she was so excited at having found Hermione at the time that she was overtaken by joy. She even apologised for frightening Hermione, which Hermione waved off. Now, she was still happy and joyful, showing her sleeping infant zealously to everyone, but she wasn’t quite as overwhelming. 

Hermione was also able to catch up with Harry and Ginny. She found herself close to tears many times throughout the evening; both from happiness that they had turned out so well, and from sadness from having missed all of that time with them. 

For the first time since the end of the war, she was starting to feel normal. She was surrounded by her best friends; her family. She found her stress and apprehensions melting away. 

After dinner, Ron had pulled Harry aside to ask him about the death eaters wand. Hermione watched the pair out of the corner of her eye, hoping to read their expressions to get an idea of what Harry would do. Harry seemed to become suddenly tired when talking to Ron, a stark contrast to the energetic man who entertained the group at dinner. But, he did not give away his thoughts to Hermione, at least not through her extensive analysis of his facial expressions. 

Ron gave Hermione a wink as they came inside, indicating to her that all had gone well during the discussion. They continued their after-dinner conversations around the fireplace, the evenings now overcome with a cold chill. 

It was well past midnight when Ron and Hermione got up to leave; only Harry, Ginny, and Molly still in the sitting room. 

“Oh, Hermione, dear,” Molly said, heading to the kitchen. “I completely forgot this arrived for you yesterday.”

Molly handed Hermione a letter. 

From Healer Stoica. 

“Is everything okay?” Harry asked, having gotten up to leave as well, apparently noticing Hermione's apprehension. 

Hermione nodded her head, trying to give her best impression of a reassuring smile. 

This letter was going to tell her what to do. It was her first step in her plan of healing. She wasn’t going to have to wait anymore. 

* * *

As soon as she landed in her sitting-room, she tore open her letter. She scanned it, with Ron waiting for her to relay what it said as soon as she finished. 

His letter confirmed what Hermione had suspected; there was no real magical mental healthcare in England. He talked about calming drought and removing offending memories magically, but besides that, there was nothing else that healers provided. Some wizards, who were so inclined, would see muggle therapists to talk about their problems. But, he knew that that would not be a possibility for Hermione. He wrote of a colleague who was a muggle-born therapist working in London. She mainly worked with muggles, but occasionally saw wizards, using her knowledge of magic and medicine to help them. He gave her the therapist's name and address, suggesting that she be Hermiones next step. 

It wasn’t what Hermione had been hoping for. But, at least she could move forward. She would contact the new therapist tomorrow and set up an appointment for both of them. After Hermione related the information from Stoica’s letter, Ron confirmed that Harry would be looking into the past spells done by the death eater who had “killed” her. 

They had things to do now, things to plan. They were no longer waiting. Well, except for one thing. 

* * *

Hermione woke up for work with one thing on her mind; today was  _ the _ day. The day she was going to find out if she was pregnant or not. She had decided to go with a muggle test and planned to get it on her lunch break. It seemed like the safest bet as, to get a wizard test, she would have to go to Diagon Alley. While the reporters couldn’t speculate, she figured they wouldn’t have to do much speculation if they found her buying a pregnancy potion. Visions swirled in her mind of every magical publication reporting on her situation;  _ The Golden Trio now a Golden Quartet? A Secret Love Child: Who Really  _ is  _ Hermione Granger? Who could the Father be: Former Hermione Granger Lover Cormac McLaggen Tells All _ . No, it would be much better to go the private, muggle route this time. 

Her anxiety radiated her body as she got ready for work. She could barely put on mascara; her hands were shaking so hard in anticipation.  _ How was she going to last until lunch?  _ But soon she found she would no longer need to wait; she had her period. 

She had expected to feel relief at this possibility; for her shoulders to relax and the tension in her core to release. But, to her surprise, that did not happen. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She internally chastised herself for this inappropriate response. After all, she and Ron were in no place to have a baby. They had barely dated and had barely gotten to know each other since the incident. Plus, they weren’t exactly stable right now. Altogether, they were in no place for bringing a life into the world, she told herself. But still, her disappointment lingered. 

She told Ron as soon as she knew. He had taken to waking up early with her and preparing breakfast (which Hermione only agreed to as long as she could make dinner). He was confused at first as to why she was discussing her monthly with him, but then he realised. Hermione couldn’t help but think that she also saw disappointment in his eyes. 

* * *

Hermione had called Dr. Ailey’s office as soon as she got the number. It was a bit trickier than expected, as Hr. Stoica’s letter had not included a phone number. She assumed he had not thought of including such a muggle form of communication. Still, it made contacting the new doctor complicated for Hermione since she believed that an owl would not be welcome in Muggle London. 

She decided she would have to go to the library after work and look up the doctor's number when she remembered the yellow pages book smushed into one of her kitchen cabinets. Searching through the thin pages, Hermione found her quickly; 

Doctor Louise Ailey, Psychiatrist

1 Harley Street Marylebone, London

(020) 7946 0347

She called before they were open and shakily left a message for the doctor. She didn’t know why she was so nervous, but her voice stuttered as she asked for an appointment for herself and Ron, on the recommendation of “Doctor” Stoica. 

She turned off her phone during work, something she usually didn’t do, as she never got calls. On her ride back from work, she found she had a message waiting for her. The receptionist had set up appointments for them. The doctor was usually very busy, but could fit the two of them in two weeks, if that works for them? Hermione called back and confirmed the appointment, finally feeling a bit of relief that she had been expecting the day before. They were moving forward. 

* * *

Hermione was not one to procrastinate, but meeting with Kingsley was something she had been putting off. She thought perhaps she should wait to see him until after she had met with her therapist; maybe she would be a bit stronger after that. 

But, when Ron came home one evening talking about how Kingsley had stopped by the shop, she knew she was running out of time. Apparently, he just popped by to say hello, and of course, he asked how Hermione was doing. Ron seemed pleased with his conversation with Kingsley, as he was someone they had all looked up to. But, Hermione knew that this was more of a friendly chat. It was an inquiry, perhaps still a friendly one, into when Hermione would meet with him. 

She knew that she would always have excuses, and reluctantly wrote a letter to him the next day, asking to meet with him. To her surprise, a letter was waiting for her when she got back from work, asking if the next evening worked for her. 

So here she found herself, waiting in the uncharacteristically plain waiting room of the office of Minister of Magic. Kingsley’s secretary was enthusiastically chatting to Hermione about the weather. Or was it the latest quidditch game? She wasn’t paying attention. Instead, she was twiddling her thumbs waiting to talk to Kingsley. 

What all was he wanting to know? Would she have to go through all of the events of her kidnapping? Would he want her memories? She wouldn’t be able to say no to the Minister, especially if it could help the aurors in some way. 

When Kingsley finally ushered her in, she felt like she had been waiting for hours, when it had only been five minutes. He offered her tea and biscuits, and they commenced in niceties. 

“I’ve wanted to ask you if you have plans for your future career. A talent like yours could always be used in the ministry.” 

“Oh,” she said, taken by surprise. “Thank you,” she added quickly. “I’m not quite sure.”

“I see,” He said, leaning back in his lush velvet armchair. “Before your disappearance, I had been planning on asking you to join my team, we were rebuilding then, and I believe you could have been invaluable.”

He looked to Hermione, perhaps hoping for a response or agreement, but instead, she just stared at him. 

“I still believe that, and the offer still stands. However, with your experience, I figured you might fit better at a higher position. Both the Department of Education, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement are hiring senior-level positions. I would be happy to recommend you for either of them if you so choose.”

Hermione was taken aback from Kingsley’s offer. Even though they had been on friendly terms, he was still the Minister, and he was talking so highly of her. It was as if the past five years had not happened, and she was still the top-of-her-class war hero. 

“I don’t have any NEWT’s”, she offered. Perhaps he had forgotten this, and she needed to remind him of her actual accomplishments. 

“I believe your experience and expertise well outway the value of any NEWT’s you could have acquired.”

All she could muster was a tiny “oh”. 

Kingsley passed her the applications for the positions, signalling the end of their conversation. Hermione was flummoxed but stood to leave. Just as she got to the door, she turned around. 

“Are you going to ask me about the, erm, incident.”

“No, no. We have all the information we need,” he said, beginning to go through paperwork, having moved on from their meeting. 

He noticed that Hermione had not left, looked up at her and smiled. 

“No need to dwell on the past. Focus on your future, Hermione.”

Kingsley’s words echoed in her mind as she took the lift to the atrium. She was so baffled by Kingsley’s unexpectedly positive discussion, that she barely noticed Harry enter the lift with her. 

“Hermione!”, Harry said enthusiastically, leaning in for a hug. “What are you doing here?” 

“I just met with Kingsley.”

Harry nodded his head as the lift doors opened to the first floor. 

“Do you mind if I pop by tonight?”, he asked. “We can talk about your meeting, and I have lots to tell you and Ron.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, always happy to have a visit from her best friend. “Is everything alright?”.

“Yeah, it’s brilliant!”, he said, reassuring Hermione. “We were finally able to crack the wands history of  _ the man you asked about.”  _ He said the last bit in hushed tones. “We’ll be able to discuss it more freely later.”

She nodded, wondering what he possibly could have found. 

“See you tonight,” he said, before kissing her cheek and disappearing into the crowd.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Child Abuse

It just didn’t happen anymore. That’s what people said. After all, it was 1982. Who died in childbirth in such an advanced age? But that’s what happened to Ainsley’s mum. She left him alone to wander the decaying halls of their wealthy ancestors. He often wondered how different his life would have been if she had survived. 

The first time he could remember feeling excited was when he received his Hogwarts letter. It would be his way out. He had immediately begun packing, knowing that he wouldn’t be leaving for a month, but anxious to go nonetheless. He knew he would be trading one castle for another, but the new one would be full of people, full of friends. However, as soon as his dad came home from work that night, he tore up Ainsley's letter. He wasn’t going to have his only son mixing with mudbloods and blood traitors, especially under the control of  _ that _ Dumbledore. No, he would stay at home and get a proper education. 

It wasn’t uncommon for Ainsley's dad to blow a fuse in front of him. That was how Ainsley had marked time. He was four when his dad first hit him- for sneaking out of bed to see the fireworks that the muggles put on. He was seven when his dad burned him for asking about the muggles in town. This is how he understood the passing of time. His father tended to anger more when it was close to Ainsley’s birthday. There was never a celebration for his birthday. Instead, it was a day of mourning. Mourning for his dad’s beloved, in which Ainsley looked a little too much like. 

But Ainsley's 11th birthday had been different. His dad did not greet him with anger or pain but instead tossed a wand to him. His first birthday present. He wanted to go to Diagon Alley- to get a wand and an animal, as had been written in his letter. But, his dad didn’t like him leaving. There were too many muggles and mudbloods out there. He had everything he needed here, didn’t he? 

The next day, a tutor had arrived for Ainsley. She seemed as excited to be there as Ainsley was, which is to say, not one bit. She would stay for an hour each day, teaching Ainsley the basics of magic. After she left, Ainsley was free until his dad returned home. 

Ainsley was an avid reader and would devour any book that his tutor brought. He used his readings to create his own potions and spells. He had even cleared out a spare room (which there was no shortage of as he and his dad only resided in one wing of their crumbling estate) and created his own workshop. There he experimented, creating spells and potions, hoping that one day he could create one that would help him to be truly free. 

Quickly, he had read all of the books that his tutor had. She promised that she would go to the library as soon as she could, to get him more. Which led to a discussion on what a library was, which led to her mentioning that there was a muggle library in town, that she passed every day on her trek to his estate. 

Ainsley had concocted his plan in that very moment; he was going to visit the muggle library. He had to see what it was like. It was helpful that his dad did not return from work until after five, and the help barely paid notice to him. He decided that he was going to go the next day. 

The walk to town was longer than he had anticipated. His own estate spanned acres. When he made it to the small double doors of the library, he was sweating and in need of water and rest. As soon as the doors opened, however, he forgot his troubles. The library was small, but it was magnificent. Books of all sorts covered each wall, which looked like they could collapse any moment by the weight of it all. 

Not only did Ainsley discover fantasy, and the escapism that comes with it, he also discovered Darcy. Darcy loved books almost as much as Ainsley did. She was shocked that he didn’t know of Charlie or Peter or Matilda, and immediately had him on a  _ classic children’s books  _ diet. One tale each night, as needed for imagination. 

Her parents weren’t around much either, and she spent her time after school in the library. Ainsley found himself spending his time there as well. His potions room soon turned into a library full of books to be read and read again. 

His year with Darcy was the best of his life. But, like all good things, so the saying goes, they come to an end. On that fateful day, he and Darcy had been caught up in a debate whether Mrs Trunchbull or Miss Minchin would be a worse teacher and had lost track of time. He had tried to sneak back to his room, but it was too late. 

He had never seen his dad so enraged. However, the physical injuries Ainsley sustained would be no match for the mental anguish. Their house-elf had quickly given up Ainsley's whereabouts to his master, including Ainsley's room filled with muggle books and treasures. His dad set the room aflame, as Ainsley watched in horror. All of his books and trinkets; the  _ real  _ magic, gone. 

His dad interrogated him for hours about where he got the muggle books. But, Ainsley did not budge. After some time, the cook could no longer handle seeing Ainsley suffer, and blurted that she had seen him with a Muggle girl in town. Ainsley did everything in his power to stop his dad leaving. Nevertheless, his dad overpowered him. 

When Ainsley closes his eyes, he can still hear the screaming and see the explosion that had killed so many muggles that day. Including his best friend.

Somehow, his dad avoided prison time. The only explanation that Ainsley could fathom was that their family name kept him out of Azkaban. 

Years had passed, and his dad was around less and less. Which Ainsley could not be more thankful for. The Dark Lord was back, his dad would say; you’ll never have to mix with the likes of those muggles again. But Ainsley didn’t care; he spent his time creating. His original plan still in motion, he was going to be free. 

One day his dad came home early in the morning. He was shouting, but unlike usual, he was happy. He woke Ainsley with the good news; Dumbledore was dead. His dad had his own reasons for his excitement; it was one step closer to having the Dark Lord rule. But Ainsley was excited too, for an entirely different reason. He was going to go to Hogwarts. 

* * *

In any other circumstances, Ainsley would not have been pleased to be grouped with a bunch of 11-year-olds. Even though he was short for his age, he stood out above the group waiting to be sorted. But, he didn’t care. He was finally here, finally away from the place he had called home for so long. He was one of the last ones to be called, nervously anticipating his fate. 

To his excitement, he was sorted into Ravenclaw. He had read every book about Hogwarts he could get his hands on and felt like Ravenclaw was where he belonged. But it wasn’t where his kind went. He was greeted enthusiastically by other Ravenclaws, who apparently did not know who he was. 

He quickly settled into his dormitory, getting to know the other boys in his year. On his first night, he was awoken by Amycus Carrow and told to get his things. He was told there had been a mistake, which made him fear that his dad had found out and was taking him home. However, he was told that was not what was happening. The sorting hat that made a mistake; he was supposed to be in Slytherin. 

He knew there had been no mistake; it was his dad’s doing. He could picture him yelling at how much of a disgrace Ainsley was. They were Selwyn’s; heirs of Slytherin. No son of his was going to be anything other than a Slytherin. 

The coldness of the Slytherin dungeons was fitting; it did not welcome Ainsley. The Slytherins reminded him of his father, full of hate and vile thoughts. He had tried to talk to the Ravenclaws he had met, but they avoided him. He was a Slytherin now. Ainsley spent his year keeping his head down. 

When it came to pass that Harry Potter was in Hogwarts, the school went wild. Eventually, Professor McGonagall sorted everything out. All of those underage or not wishing to fight would leave. Since Ainsley was both of those, he followed her directions. 

He waited in Madam Rosmerta's for the fight to be over. Most of the other children had left, their parents coming to rescue them. But Ainsley knew his dad wouldn’t be coming. He was fighting for Voldemort, fighting against his schoolmates. 

When the news rang out, Ainsley thought this was finally his chance; his escape from this nightmare that his dad had created for him. Voldemort was dead. Ainsley had risen to go. Where, he did not know, but it didn’t matter. He could go anywhere he wanted. 

Then, there was a bang, and the pub filled with darkness, blinding its inhabitants. He felt a tug on his collar, and suddenly he was twisting through space, no longer in control of where he was going. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: torture, blood, and death

Ainsley and his dad had been on the run for days. He had already grown tired of eating scraps and stale bread found in rubbish bins. He longed for the warmth and  _ real food  _ of Hogwarts. They had traversed throughout Europe, camping in woods. Ainsley's dad hadn’t brought anything with them, assuming that Harry Potter would be no match for Voldemort. He had been very wrong. 

As each day passed, Ainsley felt more and more disdain towards his father. After all, Ainsley hadn’t done anything wrong. When he told his father as much, he broke out laughing. 

“He hadn’t done anything wrong?”, his father asked maniacally. “What about the entire muggle village that you killed?”

Ainsley stared at his father as he retold the story; his dad had used  _ his wand  _ to kill the muggles. The deaths had been blamed on a gas leak explosion, but his dad could always tell the Wizamagot the truth. That Ainsley, in a fit of accidental magic, had destroyed the muggles. Accidental or not, the death toll would no doubt lead to the revoking of Ainsley's wand and perhaps time in Azkaban. 

Ainsley was stuck. He couldn’t leave, and he was afraid he would never be free. He couldn’t help but relate to Harry Potter and his friends, having had lived in such a similar situation for so long. He thought of them often. After all, they got out. They survived. Why couldn’t he?

* * *

One night, Ainsley's dad woke him in a hurry, Ainsley had just fallen asleep on the cold dirt floor. His dad was raving about his dark mark being activated. He dragged Ainsley up and apparated them to a dark, dungeon-like place. 

Ainsley could barely see in the dimly-lit dungeon, but he could make out four figures in the darkness, each wearing a mask. He looked over to his father, noticing that he, too, had donned a death eater mask. Apparently, Ainsley was not important enough to need the safety of anonymity. 

“Selwyn,” one of the death eaters greeted his dad, figuring who he must be with Ainsley at his side. 

The death eaters validated their identities by grilling one another. After being satisfied with their interrogations, they took off their masks. 

Ainsley recognised the other men from secret meetings at the Selwyn estate and Daily Prophet articles. There was Rabastan Lestrange, who had called the death eaters together. Around him was Crabbe Sr., Rookwood, and Jugson, waiting for Lestrange’s instructions, apparently eager to have someone to follow again. 

Lestrange went through his plan in hushed tones, so much so, that Ainsley could barely make out what he was saying. He could make out that Lestrange and the others believed that The Dark Lord was the most powerful wizard when he was alive. They thought that he had powers that others had not, and for weeks Lestrange could not figure how such a wimpy, miserable child could have killed him _.  _

It was no secret that Voldemort had been concerned about Potter's powers. Lestrange had figured that when The Dark Lord had tried to kill Harry the first time, he had transferred some of his powers to him. The second time, he did so as well, which is how Harry overtook him and took over the rest of his power.

The fact of the matter was that Harry Potter was now the most powerful wizard alive (this statement was met with disgruntled jeers, but Lestrange quickly rallied his fellow death eaters again).  _ They couldn’t stand for this!  _ He had shouted. They had to kill Potter. And the one who killed him would take his powers, becoming the most powerful wizard alive and restoring dignity to the Wizarding World.

Lestrange would take on this role, of course. When asked how he would kill Potter, especially since he seemed immune to death, Lestrange laughed. Everyone knew the rule of threes; Harry would not be able to survive another killing curse; he was sure of it. The only thing he was not sure of was how to lure Potter to his death. 

Luring Harry Potter would prove difficult. He tended to stay in the blood-traitor Weasley’s home, and when he was not, he was flanked by aurors. They decided to turn their pursuits towards Harry’s friends instead. It was widely known that his weakness was his compulsion to do anything for his friends. Even, the death eaters hoped; lay down his life for them. 

Jugson had volunteered to sneak into the Ministry, taking the place of a worker, and trying to figure more about the trio. He kidnapped Alan Atkinson, and Ainsley had gotten his first glimpse of how brutal the death eaters were. They had tortured Atkinson with no remorse. His father made him perform the cruciatus curse on Atkinson. When it was not powerful enough, his father turned to perform the curse on Ainsley instead, for his weakness. 

They had surmised that Potter's best friends would be travelling to Australia soon, to rescue Granger's parents. It was the perfect time to strike as aurors would not accompany them. They planned to wait until the pair arrived and snatch them. Jugson had been able to acquire their address, and the plan was set in motion. 

Rowle and Macnair had joined their ranks, equally desperate for revenge as they were for unlimited power. Macnair had travelled to Australia, killing the Grangers early, making the argument that a little decomposition would only add to the terror they were planning to impose. At the same time, Crabbe Sr. had gone too far with his  _ interrogation  _ of Atkinson, killing him. 

This meant that Jugsons polyjuice potion would only last the rest of the day, and he would be found out. They had to act immediately. Using Jugsons stolen Ministry parchment, they hurriedly wrote a letter to Granger, urging her to go to Australia immediately with Weasley. When Ainsley had asked if they were planning on rescuing Jugson, he was scoffed at. Jugson was as good as dead. Plus, they no longer needed him. 

So here he was, in the shadows of the Grangers home, trying desperately to avoid looking at their corpses, which seemed to be staring at him. Waiting. 

* * *

The first thing that hit Ainsley was how scared Hermione and Ron seemed. They were war heroes, and he was expecting them to be strong and stoic. But instead, they clutched each other in fear. Their terror seemed to invigorate the death eaters, but it only made Ainsley feel shame. He knew what it was like to be afraid for one's life. 

He waited until the death eaters had left and turned to them. 

“Don’t scream,” he cautioned, not wanting them to be found out, and endure much worse than they just had. 

He magicked their ties away, trying to avoid their frightened stares. They were afraid of him, as well. Why wouldn’t they be? He now donned a mask. For all intents and purposes, he  _ was  _ a death eater. 

* * *

The death eaters met in a makeshift camp above the cellar which they hid and protected with magic. There were eight of them now, Goyle Sr. had joined them after Australia. They had been arguing over what to do with the picture they had taken of the kidnapped pair. In hushed tones, they debated; should it be used as a warning? Or should it tell of their plan? Should they send it directly to Potter? Or to the ministry?

Disagreements faded in and out of Ainsley's head. He couldn’t be bothered with the details of how they were to threaten Harry. He couldn’t stay focused; the terror in their captives eyes forcing their way to the front of his mind. He wanted- no he needed- to get out. A stint in Azkaban could not be much worse than this. Plus, his time would be significantly longer if something happened to Hermione or Ron. Perhaps he could trade information about their location for a lesser sentence? Yes, that’s what he would do. 

The din of the death eaters arguing grew more significant, and Ainsley saw the time for his escape. No one seemed to be paying him any mind, so he figured he could easily sneak out of the hideout’s door. He knew they had placed an anti-apparation spell around the refuge, but he did not know how far it reached. He would have to run and hope for the best. 

He slowly sneaked across the perimeter of the hideout, right in his assumption that no one would notice. He slipped through the door, and he was off; running towards his freedom. As he ran, his feet fell underneath him, and he toppled over, guessing he tripped over a branch. As he pushed himself up, he noticed a dilapidated pair of boots standing in front of him. 

“Thought you could escape, did you?” Crabbe senior spat. Crabbe picked up Ainsley by his ear and dragged him back to camp. Ainsley was thrown at the feet of his father, who did not seem bothered by the almost-escape. 

“Do what you want with him,” he had said, offhandedly. 

And that’s what Crabbe did. He said he needed to practice his crucios for the mudblood. After what seemed like hours, he stopped. It was decided that it was time to give the kidnapped pair a visit. 

Lestrange stated that not everyone could go all at once, as they would be too likely to kill them. They would have to go in shifts, allowing for the victims to recover in between. The crew again broke into arguments; everyone wanting a piece of the pair. 

Crabbe argued that the couple was responsible for his son's death, and was granted first entry. Goyle, Rowle, and Ainsley, would be joining them. Ainsley, only so he could “learn a lesson”. 

Crabbe forced Ainsley into the room first, holding his wand pointed at his back. Though Crabbe quickly overtook Ainsley and headed for Hermione. Ainsley held back, doing whatever he could to avoid looking at her terrified face. 

“Untie her,” Crabbe ordered Ainsley, reminding him who was in charge. 

He reluctantly magicked her ties away, feeling sick to his stomach. He was worried that they would want him to participate in their cruelty. But, once they started, they seemed to forget that they were babysitting him. Instead, he crawled to the far wall and covered his head, the screams penetrating his skull. 

In a daze, he was pulled by his collar out of the cellar. He reluctantly looked back at the pair, terrified of the amount of blood covering their body. 

“You went too far,” Rowle shouted at Crabbe as soon as they exited the cellar, his wand held aloft. “They could die, and the plan would be ruined!”

Crabbe had no time to argue and instead attempted to hit Rowle with a stunning spell. Rowle avoided it, and a duel broke out. Still, they were quickly stopped by Lestrange. 

After breaking up the duelers, the death eaters met to discuss what to do about their new predicament. They agreed that if either of their captives died, their plan would be ruined. Granger and Weasley were in a sorry state and needed healing to keep them alive. Though, they agreed, they would do what needed to be done to captives alive, but only what was absolutely necessary. Ainsley was volunteered to deliver water and wrappings to them. He wanted nothing more than never to enter that cellar again, but he had no choice. When the death eaters were not looking, he added healing potion, which he always kept on himself, to the basin of water. Water itself would do much to help them. 

He entered the cellar, placing the items in front of them, trying to avoid seeing the pain they were in. When he turned to leave, he saw a flash of their figures. Hermione was staring at him, no longer looking terrified. Instead, she looked more tired than anyone he had ever seen. Ron was still tied up and seemed to be unconscious. 

“I can’t help him if he’s still tied up,” Hermione said in a raspy voice. 

Ainsley could not bear to look back at them. Rather, he waved his wand over his shoulder, releasing Ron, and headed straight out of the door. 

* * *

He could not sleep, visions of Hermione and Ron being tortured floating in his head. Most of the other death eaters were sound asleep, with McNair and Rookwood playing cards at the entrance. No one had checked on the kidnappees since their torture, and Ainsley could not get the idea of them lying dead below him out of his head. He had to make sure they were alive. 

He headed to the cellar entrance, looking back at the card-playing death eaters. They did not notice Ainsley, or they didn’t care, and Ainsley entered the cellar. 

He magicked the lights on, unable to see. There lied Hermione and Ron; Hermione's figure draped over Rons. Ainsley's breath hitched, terrified they were dead.

He hesitantly made his way over to them and checked their pulses. They were both alive, but only just. He spent the next hour healing the unconscious pair; replenishing their blood and fixing their injuries. 

They had not woken by the time that Lestrange entered the cellar, demanding that Ainsley tied them up again. He did not question Ainsley as to why he was in the cellar, likely assuming that Ainsley was up to nefarious goings-on. 

Ainsley magically tied them up, but when he went to put fabric on their mouths, he was stopped. They needed to speak. More death eaters stumbled in, with Crabbe and Goyle notably absent. 

Rookwood was carrying the camera, this time it was glowing yellow instead of blue. Lestrange cast the rennervate spell on the pair, but only Hermione stirred. Her eyes were fluttering open and closed, apparently having trouble fully waking up. 

“State your name and the date,” demanded Lestrange. 

Hermione did not respond, still struggling to regain consciousness. 

“Crucio,” Lestrange performed nonchalantly as if it was a task he did daily. “I’m not going to ask again; state your name and the date.”

It took a moment, but Hermione’s eyes opened fully, and she seemed to grasp what was being asked of her. 

“I don’t know the date,” she croaked. 

“It’s June 7th,” responded Ainsley. He wasn’t planning on talking or being a part of whatever was going to happen next, but he couldn’t bear her being tortured again. 

“My name is Hermione Granger,” she said weakly, staring into the camera lens as if searching for something. “Today is the 7th of June.”


	22. Chapter 22

Ainsley felt exhausted. His whole body protested his upright-ness, but still, he leaned against the makeshift wall of the hideout. There was no escape; no going back.  _ This _ was his reality. They were going to send Harry the last letter; the letter that sealed his and his friend’s fate. 

Again, there were arguments about how best to send the death note. Yelling amongst the death eaters was so commonplace now, that Ainsley barely registered it. 

Whatever happened next, there would not be a positive outcome for Ainsley. If the death eaters plan worked, Harry, Hermione, and Ron would be dead. Which would mean that Lestrange would be in power, and Ainsley would be stuck in this purgatory forever. If Harry overtook them or was not all-powerful, then Ainsley would be spending the rest of his life in Azkaban. That was if he was lucky; the third option would be that Ainsley would end up dead. For some cruel reason, that felt like the best option of them all. 

The yelling of the death eaters got louder, to the point that Ainsley could no longer ignore it. Spells flew across his eyes; a fight had broken out. They were shouting at one another, Crabbe duelling Lestrange and Rookwood. No one else was involved, likely not wanting to take sides. 

Crabbe shouted that  _ he _ should be the one to kill Potter- that he deserved it and that he was the best wizard among them. He was met with guffaws and snickers, the other death eaters not agreeing with his sentiment. Still, he fought on, trying to prove his point. Just as the fighting seemed to decelerate, Crabbe managed to land the killing curse on Lestrange. Then, all hell broke loose. 

“Get the captives,” yelled Crabbe, causing the fighting to move towards the cellar. 

Ainsley was pushed to the cellar with the others, not participating in the duel, but instead using spells to protect himself. The chaos was overwhelming. Each death eater was vicious- desperate for blood. 

It was clear that some of the death eaters had taken sides, Crabbe and Goyle were fighting Rookwood and Rowle. The other death eaters were duelling whoever would fight them, taking joy in the pandemonium. 

With a thud, Crabbe fell to the floor, killed by Rookwood. Before this, the killing curse had only been used by Crabbe, others wanting to cause pain but not death. Now, the atmosphere had changed. Goyle was momentarily distracted by the death of his comrade and was struck down by Rowle. The killing curse began to fly out of wands indiscriminately, the sight overwhelming. 

A spell brushed passed Ainsley's ear, causing him to swerve right into another. The spell hit him dead centre in his chest, and he fell to the floor. 

* * *

Rookwood shouted, trying to get the attention of the fighters to no avail. Now the older Selwyn had moved from the killing curse to a slashing curse, trying to cause the most damage possible. The curse hit the already weak captive, distracting the death eaters who were left. 

“Stop this at once,” Rookwood shouted, using the momentary distraction to his advantage. “Get ahold of yourselves.” 

The fighting stopped and the death eaters turned to Rookwood, anxious to hear what he would say next. 

He turned to Ainsley's form and rennervated him, which shocked the elder Selwyn, who believed his son to be dead. 

* * *

Ainsley awoke on the cold floor of the cellar, his chest throbbing as he pushed himself into a sitting position. The memories of what had happened flooded back to him. He looked over to his right and saw the bleeding figure of Hermione Granger, limp in Ron Weasley's arms. Ron’s face was pressed against hers, whispering and sobbing unintelligible statements.

Ainsley tried to meet the eyes of Ron, to see if he was alright and to somehow signal to him that Ainsley was trying to help. He absentmindedly touched his face and felt the death eater mask attached to it. The door of the cellar was magicked to put the mask on any death eater who entered. He would be of no comfort to Ron. 

The death eaters were huddled together, presumably creating a new plan, but Ainsley didn’t care about them. He went to stand up, to see if Hermione was alive. 

“She’s too weak if she’s even alive. I say we leave the mudblood and continue with Weasley. If we send the photo now, Potter won’t need to know.” 

Ainsley stopped in his tracks, listening to the death eaters discussion. 

“I’ll send the photograph, you grab Weasley,” Rookwood gestured to Rowle and McNair, “and we’ll go to our next location without the girl.”

“No,” shouted Ainsley, before he was aware of what he was doing. 

The death eaters turned to him with surprised looks, having forgotten he was there. 

“What do you mean,  _ no _ ?”, said his father, pushing his wand into Ainsley's chest. 

“I mean, er”, Ainsley paused, trying to come up with a reason that would convince the death eaters. “It would be better to bring her- the  _ mudblood- _ along, wouldn’t it?” He hoped that his use of  _ that word  _ would help him to win favour with the group. “If she is dead,” he hoped that she wasn’t, “it would be worse for Potter, and we’d have one less mouth to feed while we wait.”

“She’s dead weight,” said Rowle matter-of-factly. “Do you know how far we have to trek to get out of the anti-apparation zone? Now that Lestrange is dead, we can’t just magic it away.”

“I’ll carry her!”, said Ainsley desperately, needing to do whatever he could to save her. 

“Fine,” said his father. “Ainsley will  _ carry _ her,” he spoke to the other death eaters with a smirk on his face. 

“Right, we don’t have time for this,” said Rookwood. “Let’s head out now.”

Rookwood took place of the leader, and the others began to follow his demands. McNair and Rowle grabbed a screaming Ron off of Hermione, quickly silencing him with petficius totalus. 

Ainsley walked to Hermione and leaned over her. Her chest was moving with breath, but only just. He quickly grabbed his handmade healing potion out of his pocket and haphazardly poured it over her wound. His father yelled at him to move and he picked up Hermione's slack form. 

They ventured through the forest with Rookwood at the head. Ainsley was soon behind him; McNair and Rowle falling behind in their struggle to carry Ron. Ainsley should be struggling as well, and he was, but he barely noticed his aching arms. His adrenaline was spiking, anticipating what was next. According to the plan, it would not be long before Harry met them in their new location. There were less of them now, and Ainsley was not convinced that they could take Harry and whatever he had up his sleeve. 

After about an hour of hiking, Rookwood paused and touched the air. Apparently satisfied with whatever he felt, he nodded. 

“Just a bit further,” he said, looking back at the others. 

McNair and Rowle had caught up with them, deciding to float Ron instead of carrying him. Ainsley went to follow Rookwood, but his father stopped him, the others pushing past them. 

“Times up,” his father said with a sickly sweet smile. 

“What do you mean?”, Ainsley asked. 

“We agreed you could carry her, and you carried her. Now it’s time to leave your little girlfriend.”

“But,” Ainsley started in shock, “she’s still alive, we could still use her.”

“No need,” he said, leaning over her form. “If you’re sure she’s alive- well you can take care of that, can’t you boy? I’ll make sure Weasley has a good view.”

With that, his father turned to follow the others. Ainsley was still flummoxed by the development. He shouldn’t have been surprised, should he? His father had agreed far too quickly. He didn’t have time to dwell on that, he needed to figure out what he was going to do,  _ now _ . 

He was still in the anti-apparation zone, and if he tried to run, they would surely kill the both of them without a blink of the eye. He gently placed her on the ground, the weight of his predicament mixed with the weight of her lifeless body becoming too much.

He couldn’t kill her. He knew that at least. If he didn’t kill her, and she survived and made it out, she would likely go back to England. If Harry died, Ainsley would be killed by the other death eaters for faking her death. 

He would have to find a way for her not to be found out if she survived. She would have to have no recollection of who she was. 

He knew what he had to do. He had been working on a spell that built on the obliviate spell. It was one of his plans if he ever escaped; the ability for him to forget his past and start over. Though he was still trying to figure out how to manipulate it so that he could keep the memories he wanted. But, that wasn’t important now. 

He blocked the view of the death eaters, who were now stopping, ready for a show. Quickly, he performed his memory charm on her. There was no way for him to know if it worked, but he had to keep going. 

He turned, making sure that the death eaters and Ron could see him and Hermione. Slowly he pulled his wand back, and looking at a poor caterpillar near Hermione's ear, he yelled, “avada kedavra.” 

He heard pops as all of the death eaters except his father apparated with Ron to the new location. 

He bent over her form, one last time, and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. There was one last problem. If someone of Hermione's description was found, especially near the forest where they had kept her, the death eaters would figure out that he had not killed her. So he discreetly altered her hair colour, something he had been planning to do for himself when he finally escaped. She was going to get the new start, the  _ freedom _ , that he had wanted for himself for so long. 

His father called him, and he ran over, vaguely aware that he could apparate away. But, he was worried about what his father would do to Hermione if he did so. His father grabbed his arm, and just before they apparated away, he nonverbally cast the rennervate spell on Hermione. 

* * *

The duo landed in the magically hidden home of Rabastan Lestrange. Much like the Selwyn estate, it spanned acres and was surrounded by forest. They were in the stables, part of it partitioned off, in which Ron was contained.

After a dinner of stew and stale bread, the death eaters found their places to sleep on some of the furniture that had been brought in from the mansion. Ainsley was last in the hierarchy and therefore spent another night sleeping on a cold and unforgiving concrete floor. 

The next morning, Ainsley could sense something was off. He was a heavy sleeper, often needing two enchanted alarm clocks to wake him, so it did not surprise him that the others were already awake. Rookwood sat in an ornately decorated armchair, fiddling with his wand absentmindedly. His father stood in the doorframe, looking at something on the floor. 

Ainsley got up to get a better view of the sight. There he saw the bodies of Rowle and McNair. Rookwood explained that they had killed each other in a duel over who owed whom after a game of cards. His father had been taking watch and came in when he heard a commotion, not seeing how exactly the death eaters met their fates. 

There was no reason  _ not _ to believe Rookwood’s story, though there was also no reason to believe him, either. Ainsley stared at his dad, trying to see if he believed Rookwood. 

In a flash, the older Selwyn drew his wand, and Rookwood had Ainsley by the collar. 

“If you make any sudden movements, he dies,” said Rookwood with his wand pressed into Ainsley's neck. 

Ainsley's father took a moment to consider Rookwood’s proposition. 

“Do you think I care?” he said, spitting in disgust.

Rookwood tightened his grip on Ainsley's collar, apparently unprepared for Selwyn’s reaction. 

“He  _ is  _ your son, no?,” Rookwood asked, a little less firmly than before. 

“No!,” shouted the elder Selwyn. “Look at him, so  _ weak  _ and cowardly, how could he be mine? He has been nothing but a thorn in my side. A muggle-lover, just like his dear old mum. If I hadn’t foolishly done an unbreakable vow with that whore, I would have been rid of him years ago. He’s nothing better than a loathsome mudblood. It would be a  _ relief _ if you were to kill him, Augustus.”

“Do it,” the elder Selwyn taunted. 

The last thing that Ainsley Selwyn saw was the cruel glare of his father's eyes, realising too late that he was never going to have the freedom he so craved. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: talk of sexual assault recovery

“And he was dead by the time you arrived?”, Hermione asked as she shakily sipped her tea. Harry had arrived minutes before, barely getting in a bite of dinner before being bombarded with questions. He recounted his experience of finding Ron years ago, as a precursor to the new information his team had discovered. 

“Yeah, only Augustus Rookwood was alive, and we captured him quickly. When we made it to the stables where Ron was, we found the bodies of Ainsley Selwyn and the other death eaters.”

“What do we know about this Ainsley?”, Ron asked. 

“Not much,” Harry said in between bites of tikka masala. “He was the son of Casimir Selwyn, who was also involved and dead by the time we arrived. He only attended Hogwarts in his 5th year, which was the year of your capture.”

“That means he was  _ 15? _ ”, Hermione gasped, almost dropping her cup of tea. 

“That vile bastard,” Ron spat. “To do what he did at his age, he must have been born evil.”

“But, Ron did he do what the others did?”, Hermione asked, lost in thought. 

“What do you mean?”, he asked incredulously. 

“Think about it, did he ever take part in our torture? He was the short one, right Harry?”

Harry nodded. 

“That means he was the one who untied us, who gave us water and wrappings. The one who  _ didn’t _ kill me,” she said the last part to Harry, urging him to tell them the real reason he was there. 

“Right, after analysing his wand, we only found one curse used; the killing curse. We can’t tell who- or rather what- it was performed on, but we can tell that it wasn’t performed on a human.”

“And you’re sure that he’s the one who Ron saw perform the curse on me?”

“Well, that’s a little trickier, all of the death eaters performed the killing curse at one point or another. What’s curious, is the spells directly before and after the killing curse. They weren’t known to anyone, we even sent it to the library, but no one could figure them out. We ended up having a team analyse them, which is why it took so long to get the information we wanted.”

“What did the spells do?” Hermione asked, sitting on the edge of her seat, having given up the pretence of eating. 

“Well, the first one was a memory altering spell,” Harry said, causing Hermione to gasp again. “We don’t know the specifics of the spell, as we can’t try it on humans, but we know it can erase memories. And the second was an alteration of the  _ felintas _ spell, which made it so one’s hair colour would change, even when it grows. As far as we could tell, they were both original spells.” 

The trio sat in silence, each contemplating the significance of what Harry recounted. 

“So this child, Ainsley,” Hermione asked, breaking the silence, “he saved my life?”

“And fucked up your memory,” interjected Ron. 

“Yes, but think about it, Ron, he probably had to,” Hermione said to Ron a calming tone. “If he had orders to kill me, and I was found alive, he would have been killed himself.”

Ron shrugged, not convinced with what Hermione was saying. 

“Where is he now?” Hermione asked, turning back to Harry. 

“He’s buried in the Azkaban graveyard with the other death eaters.”

“We need to clear his name,” Hermione stated matter-of-factly.

“What?”, Ron shouted. 

“He saved my life, he did whatever he could to keep us safe, and he didn’t participate in our torture. He obviously didn’t want to be a part of it,” Hermione half-begged, urging Ron to understand. 

“Yeah, well he didn’t have to stay, did he?”, Ron said, crossing his arms. 

“Sometimes leaving is harder than it seems,” Harry said. “I’ll see what I can do, Hermione.” 

The trio ate their now-cold dinner in silence, the tension from Ron’s dissent growing. 

* * *

“I can’t believe you think he was a good guy!”, Ron was nearly shouting as the pair got ready for bed. 

“That’s not what I said,” Hermione said firmly, putting on her pyjamas. “I just don’t think he should be grouped together with the other death eaters.”

“But he was a death eater,” Ron rebutted. 

“He was a  _ child _ .”

“We were children, Hermione!,” Ron shouted, his restraint gone. “When we fought Voldemort and the death eaters- when we risked our lives. I never would have done what he did.”

“Well, not everyone is as brave as you,  _ Ronald _ ,” Hermione said, emphasizing Ronald so that he knew she was upset. 

“What does that mean?”, Ron asked angrily. 

“Not everything’s black and white. He did what he could, not everyone can just sacrifice themselves willy-nilly,” Hermione argued. 

“He took your memory!”, Ron shouted. “He took you from me. But that’s okay because  _ he was a child _ ,” he said in a mocking tone. 

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Hermione said softly, feeling exhausted from trying to defend Ainsley to Ron. 

“I’m going to sleep on the sofa,” Ron huffed, walking out of their bedroom. 

* * *

Hermione woke to an unnaturally cold and empty bed, reaching her arms for Ron, and then remembering their argument the night before. She got up, still needing to get ready for work. She barely had time to look over the descriptions for the jobs Kingsley had recommended for her because she was so focused on what Harry might tell them. The descriptions would have to wait to be read until she got home. 

Her chest felt oddly hollow. She and Ron had fought before, but this felt different. In fact, their fights before had been much worse than the tiff they had. But, this was their first fight as a couple. It was their first disagreement really, and it was about something so inconsequential. But then again, most of their fights had been. 

Hermione got ready, expecting Ron to still be asleep or even gone, by the time she left the loo. But when she opened the door, there he stood.

“Hey,” he said meekly. 

“Hi.”

“Look, Hermione, I’m sorry,” he said regretfully. “I was out of line last night. I was mad at the situation and I took it out on you, I shouldn’t have. 

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Hermione agreed. 

“I guess I still have some pent up anger towards everything that happened. It’s hard for me to think of forgiving anyone who was part of that. Even if they were trying to help. He didn’t stop us from going through that.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“What are you on about?”, Ron asked quizzically. 

“I shouldn’t have egged you on. You have every right to be upset, and I can’t pretend to know what you went through. Especially after…”

Ron lowered his eyes, the pair of them standing inches apart but not moving. 

“I guess it’s good we’re going to get our heads checked out then,” Ron said with a chuckle. 

“Yes, I think it is,” Hermione responded with a light laugh, stretching up to give him a kiss on the cheek. 

* * *

Hermione unlocked the door to her flat, exhausted from a night of poor, Ron-free sleep. She was planning to crash as soon as she got to her bed, having a couple of hours before Ron returned from work. 

To her surprise, Ron was sitting on their couch and turned to her with a big grin as she entered. 

“Hey,” Hermione said in a surprised tone, walking over to Ron. As soon as she made it over, Ron pushed a bottle into her hands. 

“What’s this?”, Hermione asked. 

“It’s from George, to celebrate.” 

Hermione took a closer look at the item in her hands. It was a bottle of alcohol-free sparkling cider.

“Celebrate what?” she asked inquisitively. 

“My promotion. You are now looking at the new co-owner of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!”, Ron said, standing up straight. 

“Oh Ron, that’s wonderful,” Hermione said before engulfing him in a hug, careful to not hit him with the glass bottle. 

She placed the bottle on the side table and the pair sat down on the couch. 

“Yeah, I’ve basically already been co-manager, but this means I now own half of the shop,” Ron said, beaming. 

“That’s fantastic,” Hermione said, matching his smile. “I’m so proud of you.”

If it was possible, Ron’s smile grew even larger. 

Before she knew what she was doing, Hermione had climbed onto Ron’s lap, her pencil skirt pushed up as she kneeled across his lap. 

“We should  _ really  _ celebrate,” she said, her voice lowering. 

Ron's excited face had been replaced with a shocked one, neither of them expecting Hermione's sudden action. 

Hermione was tired of holding back, their recent love-life was something that could easily be in a 12-rated movie. That is to say, it was nearly non-existent. The last time they had sex was the day after she returned to normal. She was terrified that she had done something wrong; that he no longer wanted her. 

“Are you sure?”, Ron asked. 

Hermione sat back on her heels, creating space between their bodies.  _ This _ is what she was afraid of. He didn’t want her. 

“What did I do?”, she asked in a small voice, urging herself not to cry. 

“What do you mean?” 

“What did I do to make you not want me?”, she said, turning her head away from his face, unable to look at him. 

“What are you talking about?”, Ron asked disbelievingly, grabbing her around the waist. “Of course I want you.”

“Then why,” Hermione took a deep breath, “haven’t we done anything? Why haven’t you touched me?” All of her fears and doubts had sprung to the surface, threatening to break free. Her common sense no longer controlled her mind. 

“I - I,” Ron stuttered. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Hermione looked at Ron in surprise. 

“Last time, well that was the night you had those nightmares. I was worried I caused them. I  _ can’t _ hurt you like that.”

Hermione shook her head. “That wasn’t because of you.”

“But, you haven’t had any nightmares since.”

“Because I’ve been taking sleeping drought, you know that.” 

“Still.”

“Look, Ron. It’s complicated. There’s no way to predict how my brain will react to certain situations. But last time, I didn't have a single flashback. I didn’t think about anything but you. You didn’t cause my nightmare.”

Ron nodded his head unconvincingly. 

“I can’t guarantee that it will always be like that. But I can guarantee that I will tell you if I do have a flashback.”

“And I would stop,” Ron said adamantly. 

Hermione nodded her head in agreement. “Yes, and you know me. Even if I wasn’t able to tell you, you could tell if something was wrong. You know when something’s not right with me.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Hermione wiped her tears off of her face. She couldn’t believe that all of this stress and apprehension she had been keeping in for so long could be settled by a small conversation. 

She chastely kissed his lips and was pulled back into another, not-so chaste kiss. He pushed his hands through her hair, popping her elastic and causing an avalanche of curls to explode from her head. 

The pair laughed at the sight, continuing their pursuits between laughs and giggles. 


	24. Chapter 24

The austere red-brick exterior of 1 Harley Street was in stark contrast to the bright and inviting interior. The waiting room of Doctor Ailey was a pale green, with accents of plants and pictures of enticing landscapes and lakes. The room evoked nature, which helped to soothe her newest patients, as they anxiously awaited hand-in-hand for their new adventure. 

They were called back to Doctor Ailey’s office, and Hermione thought to herself how different it was to Healer Stoica’s office. The atmosphere was refreshing and homely, unlike the uptight and straightlaced quality of Healers Stoica’s office. It also did not remind Hermione of the uninviting, sterile doctor offices she had so much experience with. The walls were covered with hand-painted art of landscapes and exotic locations, much like the waiting room. There was no desk in the middle of the room, instead, there was an array of comfortable-looking seating. Hermione and Ron chose to sit on a loveseat, which was covered in embroidered pillows. They had the option of having different first appointments or having one together, and they chose to stay together. 

Dr Ailey- who insisted to be called by her first name; Louise- was a petite woman who appeared to be engulfed in her clothing. Each fabric and accessory she wore was a different colour and pattern, which would typically clash, but somehow worked on her. She wore her hair down, her blonde hair curling at the bottom, slightly obscured by her floral headband. 

Hermione had expected to be interrogated by Louise, immediately having to go over their trauma. But instead, they simply chatted. Louise talked about her children, her oldest going to Hogwarts in a couple of years. Which led to her asking them about their Hogwarts experience and how they met. 

Halfway through their appointment, both Ron and Hermione were at ease, easily chatting about their shenanigans and other easy topics. Soon, Louise led them to the tougher topics, finally arriving at why they were there. They both talked about what they wanted to work on; Hermione with her PTSD and panic attacks, and Ron with his alcoholism, anxiety, and anger. 

Louise reassured them that they were having normal reactions to the trauma they experienced. She described how she would use a mix of muggle therapy practices and magic to help them move forward. Together, they decided that they would have separate appointments weekly, with a monthly one together. 

By the end of their hour, which seemed to pass much faster than they expected, both were feeling lighter and encouraged about their new path. Before they left, Hermione asked Louise a question that had been sitting on her for a while. 

She inquired about mental health care in the wizarding world, something that she was shocked to discover was so hard to find. Louise agreed that it was abysmal. She knew of very few other wizard healers that went on to pursue a psychology degree, something that would require attending a muggle university. She mentioned that there were other countries that offered mental health training and even psychological education for their wizarding population. However, in England, the healers were only required to take one rudimentary mental health course. On top of that, the stigma, which is prevalent in the muggle world, was much more pronounced in the British wizarding world. 

Hermione thanked Louise for her insight, leaving the appointment determined to do something about it. 

* * *

Hermione was glad of the timing of their first appointment, as recently she had been feeling more anxious. She was waiting to hear back from the positions she applied for. As much as she tried, she was unable to distract herself from the reality of the situation; if she were to take one of the jobs, her life would dramatically change. 

Not that that would be a bad thing. She would be able to be completely herself; no longer pretending to be Jane. It was becoming harder and harder to be Miss. Darling. She found herself constantly slipping up, confusing her students with her odd vocabulary. Her coworkers were becoming nosier, and it was difficult to keep her stories straight. 

If she took a Ministry job, she would be completely immersed in the wizarding world. Which would mean she could begin to focus on what she wanted to do. She was quite excited about the possibilities the positions offered. 

One job was in the Department of Education. Her main duties would be locating new students, and making sure they got to Hogwarts with everything they needed. The exciting part of the job was that she would have a say in any new curriculum and hiring. She could influence the curriculum to be more open to magical creatures and to be more accurate about muggles. 

The other job was a position in the Wizengamot. It was the highest position one could hold, without experience. She would be able to vote on any new laws and would be able to assist higher officers with creating new laws. She could affect change in so many ways, and that possibility both excited and frightened her. Not only would she have a say in laws that affected Hogwarts, but she could also help to pass laws about magical creatures, muggle relations, and even health care. Which meant that she could possibly help to create a better mental healthcare system. 

It had only been a few days since she sent in her applications, and she knew she had to be patient. But the waiting was starting to get to her. 

* * *

Hermione was sitting on her kitchen bar stool, grading schoolwork and indiscreetly checking her window every few minutes with the hope of seeing a ministry owl, when Ron arrived home from work. 

He greeted her with their custom kiss on the lips and took a seat next to her. He was jittery, and Hermione could tell that something was up. She put down her red grading pen and gave him a questioning look. 

“So, I was thinking,” Ron started, still bouncing his knees up and down. 

“Uh, oh,” Hermione teased, Ron’s sense of humour had rubbed off on her. 

Ron gave a faint smile, slightly eased by her whimsy. 

“It’s almost the end of the month, and my lease is almost up…”

Hermione nodded, prodding him on. 

“Well, I mean, I essentially already live here. And I know we haven’t been dating long, but it would be more economical,” Ron said anxiously, not quite saying what he needed to say, but hoping Hermione would understand. 

“It would be more economical,” Hermione agreed, letting Ron know that she understood what he was trying to say. 

“You don’t think it’s too fast?”, Ron questioned, knowing that Hermione cared about how things  _ looked _ .

“Well, you’re right, we practically are living together. It’s not like we’re getting married or something.”

“Right,” Ron said. “So do you think I should move in?”

“I do,” Hermione said with a smile. 

Ron smiled his crooked smile and stood up to kiss her. 

“Just out of curiosity,” Ron said, standing between Hermione's legs, “how long do we have to wait before it’s appropriate to get married?”

“Oh,” Hermione responded, taken slightly aback by Ron’s question. “For us, I would say we should be dating for at least a year.”

“A year?”, Ron asked incredulously. 

“It’s not very long at all, Ron. If we were a normal couple-“

“A normal couple?”, Ron interrupted. 

“I mean, if we met randomly and started dating, and didn’t have the history we have, then I would say 3-5 years. And I certainly wouldn’t be moving in with you after a few months.”

“Alright, fair enough. Just so I know, when is our anniversary?”

Hermione burst out laughing. 

“I have no clue.”

“It could be our first kiss,” Ron offered, also laughing at the ridiculousness of it. 

“The day of the Battle of Hogwarts,” Hermione cringed. 

“Right, our second kiss?”

“Harry and Ginny’s anniversary,” they said in unison. 

“Do we have a day that doesn’t happen to land on other important events?”, Hermione asked. 

“We could do the first day we met; September first?”

“I like that,” Hermione said. “But, that would mean waiting more than a year to celebrate.”

“That’s no good,” Ron said, shaking his head. “What about the second time we met, as Ron and Jane?”

“That could work,” Hermione agreed. “Though I don’t know what day that was, off the top of my head. It was sometime in July.”

“Let’s just round up, make it July first.

“Alright, July first it is,” Hermione said with a smile.

Ron met her smile and leaned in so his face was almost touching hers. Instead of kissing her, as Hermione expected, he asked her a question. 

“Do you think-,” he started. “Say it has been a year, and it’s our one year anniversary; July first. Do you think you would say yes if I asked you to marry me?”, he asked, barely above a whisper. 

“I do think I would- yes,” she said, not hesitating. 

“Wicked,” he said, and Hermione could only just make out his crooked smile before he kissed her. Hermione met his kiss intensely, but before they went very far, she stopped them. 

“What’s the matter?”, Ron asked urgently. 

“Nothing,” Hermione said calmly. “It’s just that, I was thinking, if I do get one of the Ministry jobs, there won’t be any reason to stay in this flat. We could live anywhere.”

“You’re right.”

“So, if I do get one of the jobs-“

“Which you will,” Ron interrupted. 

Hermione rolled her eyes but continued. 

“Then maybe we could find a new place, together. A fresh start.”

“That would be brilliant,” Ron said enthusiastically, resuming their previous activity. 

* * *

The next day, two ministry owls flew into their flat’s window; she was scheduled for an interview for both of the jobs. 

The interviews went well, the interviewers not drawing attention to the five missing years on her CV or her lack of NEWT’s. She surmised that her situation had now gone public. Normally, her personal information being public would not please her. But in this case, for the first time, it helped her. 

Two days later, she was offered the education job, and a day after that, she was offered the Wizengamot position. After much discussion and debate, she took the Wizengamot position. 


	25. Chapter 25

Hermione was lost in thought while setting a table in preparation for the housewarming party. The smell of onions and roast chicken wafted through the doors, pervading her senses. She felt at peace as she looked over the place that she and Ron now called “home”.

It had been a long journey to get here. They had looked at so many places before landing on this one- this  _ perfect  _ one. Their estate agent must have thought they were barmy, or up to no good since their only real requirement was that their new place had a fireplace. It didn’t matter where it was located since they could floo or apparate wherever they needed to go. 

So there they were; this young couple, only having had dated for a few months, with a very flexible budget, (they had their winnings to help pay for their place, though Hermione insisted that they stick to somewhat of a budget) not caring where their new place was, and paying with cash. They must have seemed very nefarious, indeed. 

Nevertheless, their estate agent enthusiastically showed them a myriad of places. They had originally wanted to look at flats since that was familiar, but it didn’t last. The flats they were shown were not what they had in mind; this one too modern, that one too uninviting, another too close to a motorway. 

Finally, their exhausted estate agent brought them to the cottage. It was just outside of Stratford-upon-Avon, slightly out of the way, with the nearest neighbour miles away. One of the problems with a flat or a home with close neighbours was suspicion. Suspicion when the pair didn’t have a car but somehow got to work. Suspicion when guests would arrive, seeming to appear out of nowhere. Suspicion when loud noises would pop throughout the day, startling and concerning the neighbours. This cottage was just far out enough, that even the nosiest neighbour wouldn’t be aware of these discrepancies. 

It was a quaint Tudor cottage, with a thatched roof, and brilliant colourful flowers blooming in its front garden. As soon as Hermione set her eyes upon it, she knew it was special. 

Since it was a Tudor home, Ron had to duck to get into the front door. But that was something they could easily change with magic. The inside reminded Hermione of the burrow; it was cosy and snug. There were exposed beams on the ceiling and a large stone fireplace (big enough to squeeze in) at the centre of the main room. The estate agent showed them around the ground floor quickly, before bringing them to the back garden. What she called the “gem” of the home. 

The back garden was expansive. They were on a small hill that led down to a lake, trees lining the path. Just like the front, colourful flowers had been expertly picked out, lining the home. Hermione could easily see herself spending her time out there, reading or otherwise spending her leisure time. 

They were led to the first floor, which held three bedrooms and the second bathroom. The master bedroom overlooked the back garden, with beautiful, big windows. However, it was the nursery-come-office that sold the cottage to Hermione. It was the smallest room in the home, but could easily fit a desk and bookcase, or a crib. The walls were lined with wallpaper, which appeared to have been there for a bit, as the corners were beginning to peel. The subject of the wallpaper were flowers in a garden. They reminded Hermione a bit of the garden outside, except for one thing. The wallpaper wasn’t covered in multicoloured flowers; instead, they were all one colour. Her favourite colour; blue. If Hermione believed in fate, she would have said the wallpaper was a sign. When they purchased the cottage, Hermione saved some of the wallpaper and framed it on the wall that was now her office.

She needed that office, too. Work was keeping her busy, not that she was complaining. She was enjoying her job immensely; she loved learning about wizarding law, spending most of her evenings reading and studying. She was planning on taking her law exam within the year. But she wasn’t just studying, she was  _ doing _ . She was voting on laws, though most were small and inconsequential. Her favourite part, however, was working on her reform bill. 

As soon as she settled in at the Wizengamot, she was given an advisor, Ophelia Maister. One day, early on, she offhandedly mentioned to Ophelia about her poor experience finding a wizard therapist. Ophelia shared that she had a similar story. She recommended that she and Hermione work on a reform bill- to help to add more mental health curriculum to healers’ education. It was the first step to changing the system and beginning to create a mental health healer position. 

Hermione wasn’t sure that she was the right person to be heading up the mission, especially since she was so new. But, Ophelia reassured her that she would be supported. Ophelia was sure that there would be support for the bill. And, after all, Ophelia questioned her, why did Hermione take the position if not to make positive change?

So, they began to work on the bill. It was daunting work, and they had barely just started. However, she was slated to talk to members of the Wizengamot in a couple of weeks to outline their plan and the progress it was making. It was just preliminary, and nothing would be voted on. But, Hermione was determined to make a good impression. Her stomach twisted whenever she thought about it, but she had to push it down, at least for now; company would be arriving at any moment. 

They had invited just about every one of their friends, including Ophelia and the assistant shopkeeper at WWW. There would be so many people that dinner was to be outside, their tiny dining area not large enough to hold everyone. 

* * *

Dinner went unreasonably well. Though, it was a bit hectic with all of the young children running around and the number of people Hermione and Ron had to greet. But, having spent so much time with the Weasleys’, Hermione was well prepared. 

After dinner, they had opened gifts and enjoyed pudding supplied by Molly. It began to grow dark, and those with young children and the older folks bade farewell. As a chill came over, those who were left went inside, using the fireplace and firewhiskey to warm up. 

Soon it was only Harry, Ginny, Luna, George, and Angelina (as George and Angelina had gotten a sitter) with Ron and Hermione. Everyone except Ron and Hermione had grown quite tipsy- Hermione had stopped drinking in solidarity with Ron. They huddled around the fireplace, reminding Hermione of their Hogwarts days. She cuddled in deeper to Ron's arms as he kissed her head. They were revelling in the quiet when Harry spoke up. 

“I ‘ave an announcement,” he said, with a slight slur. “I was offered Head Auror.”

Jubilation broke out at his news, with Ron getting up to pat him on the back. 

“I didn’t take it,” he said with enthusiasm, causing Ron to stop in his tracks. 

“What do you mean?”, Ron asked sceptically. 

Harry looked over at Ginny, who was sitting on the arm of his chair and smiled. 

“I quit.”

Silence overtook the group, no one knowing how to react. 

“Isn’t that great?”, he asked, seeming to not notice the concern in his friend's eyes. 

“What do you mean, you quit?”, Hermione asked. 

“I quit, I left, I never have to go back there again,” Harry said slowly as if he was explaining the term to a toddler. 

“But, why?”, Hermione asked, ignoring his antics. 

“Why not? When I was sitting in that dingy office hearing that I would have to be in that job forever, I asked myself just that; ‘why’. There’s no reason for me to be there anymore. No reason to be risking my life daily. No reason to be doing all of that bloody paperwork!”

“There was a lot of paperwork,” Ron said under his breath, as he took back his spot next to Hermione. 

“What are you going to do?”, Hermione asked, feeling concerned. 

“That’s the great part; I have no fuckin’ clue,” he said, raising his firewhiskey and clinking it with a perplexed George’s glass. 

“But I don’t have to know, do I?”, he continued. “We’ve got plenty of galleons saved. I don’t ever have to work if I don’t want to. For now, I’m going to follow my  _ gorgeous  _ wife around as she kicks quidditch arse and we travel the world.”

He wrapped his arms around Ginny and kissed her on the cheek. It looked as though this news was not new to her, as instead of confusion or concern- her face read that of exuberance. She grinned widely at Hermione, who hesitantly met her smile back.

Hermione wasn’t sure this was the best choice for Harry. But, she couldn’t say she didn’t understand it. They truly had no time to contemplate their futures before they were thrown into them. Him especially. His position as an auror was basically a given, and there was no way he wouldn’t have taken it with his best friends needing him. 

But now, they were safe. The world was safe. Or at least a lot safer. There was no need for  _ him _ , specifically, to be a fighter. The auror ranks were growing exponentially every year. Maybe this was a good thing, a chance for him to finally do what he  _ wants _ to do.

* * *

After cleaning up as best they could as soon as their last guests left, Hermione and Ron were absolutely knackered. It was half-past three when they finally made it to bed.  _ Their _ bed. 

“Mad about Harry, isn’t it?’, Ron asked as he fell into bed.

“Yes”, Hermione responded, her face twisted.

“What’s the matter?”, he asked, looking worried.

“I mean I am a bit concerned about his future,” she started. “But, I supposed I’m more concerned that he stayed in a job he hated for so long because of me.”

Ron continued to look at Hermione, considering what he was going to say.

“I don’t think that’s it. I don’t think he stayed because of you. And I don’t think he hated it. Come to think of it, he only really seemed to be bothered by his job recently.”

Hermione remembered back to when she was spying on Ron and Harry and their discussion of Ainsley’s wand. She remembered how dejected he looked, appearing to be exhausted by the prospect of having more to do.

“I think you missing gave him another reason to stay on the force, yes. But, I don’t think it’s what kept him there. He’s always been one to fight, I think he’s finally figured out he doesn’t have to do that anymore.”

“I hope you’re right,’ Hermione said, crossing her arms. 

“I know I am,” Ron said, wagging his eyebrows playfully. “On another note, I know we are both spent. But, it is our first night here…”

“It might be bad luck if we don’t christen it,” he said with a cheeky smile.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”, Hermione asked, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning in for a kiss. 


	26. Chapter 26

It was a surprisingly warm day in May, one that Ron would normally savour, spending a few extra minutes lingering outside before heading home. But, today he was eager to get home. 

His left pocket felt unnaturally heavy, especially since the only thing residing in it could not weigh much. Perhaps it was the gravity of what the item meant that weighed him down. 

It was just over a month until their one year anniversary, and everything had been planned. For the first time in his life, Ron was overly prepared. 

He had been planning his proposal for months, practically since Hermione had set the one year rule. In fact, he went out and bought the ring the next day. The ring was a mix of the two of their birthstones, as was wizard tradition. It was lucky that their stones looked good together (or so he was told) as his was aquamarine and hers sapphire. The gems swirled around a diamond, something that Harry had mentioned was muggle tradition, which Ron wanted to embrace- for Hermione.

It was finally finished, and Ron carefully brought it to work to get George’s opinion. George hastily called Angelina down from their flat, stating that he had no bloody clue if it was any good. Angelina swooned over the ring and said that Hermione would love it, before kissing Ron on the cheek and giving her blessing. 

Ron was going to show Harry the next day, as he and Ginny were back for a couple of days from her tour. From recent visits, Ron could tell that Harry was beginning to grow tired of not working. Thankfully, he was offered a job right in time. Headmistress McGonagall offered him the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Ron thought it was the perfect position for Harry; he would get to use his knowledge and experience to teach the new generation and in the first place he called “home”. Harry agreed, and would start in September, the position no longer cursed since the death of Riddle. 

Ron arrived home desperate to hide the ring but was distracted by the brilliant smell of Beef Wellington flowing through their home. He found Hermione in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on his favourite meal. 

“This smells amazing,” he said, inhaling the savoury scent. “What’s the occasion?”

“What do you mean?”, Hermione asked in a too-high voice. “You do breakfast and I do supper, that’s always been the plan.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure that we had cereal for breakfast,” he said with a smirk. “I need to step up my game.”

Hermione gave a weak smile and brought the Wellington to the table. 

“Is everything okay?”, he asked. 

“Yes!”, she said quickly, not convincing Ron. 

“Are you sure?”, he asked. “You seem...off.”

Hermione gave him a stare that could only mean  _ fuck off,  _ so he decided to stop pestering her, for now. 

They sat down across from each other, and only when he slightly sat on the ring, did Ron remember that it was still in his pocket. He would have to hide it later; the food couldn’t wait. Or, at least, he couldn’t wait to eat the food. 

The Beef Wellington was some of the best he had ever had, almost as good as his mums. When he mentioned how delicious it was, Hermione responded that she had been practising. 

Ron was momentarily lost in his food, lapping up the flavours, but soon snapped out of it. Hermione was barely eating at all, in fact, she looked like she was to be sick. 

Ron put down his cutlery and looked her dead in the eyes. 

“Ok, what’s up, I  _ know  _ somethings wrong.”

“Nothings wrong, Ron,” she said, with her best attempt to look serious. “Just eat your food.”

Ron looked at her curiously. 

“Have you poisoned it?”, he asked, half-joking. 

“What?”, she asked in astonishment. 

“Well, you’re jittery as fuck, look like someone’s died, and you’re not eating the food. Plus, you made my favourite dish, guaranteeing I’d eat it,” he said with a suspicious eyebrow wag. 

“I didn’t poison you, Ronald,” she said sternly, clearly not finding his line of questioning amusing. 

“Well, I’m not going to eat more until you tell me what’s going on,” he said, placing his elbows on the table for emphasis. “I’m starting to worry,” he added quietly. 

“You shouldn’t worry,” she said, just as softly. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“That surprisingly doesn’t calm me,” he laughed. 

Hermione gave a small smile.

“I,” she halted, opening and closing her hands on the table in nervousness. 

Ron took her hand, which seemed to calm her. Then he let go, walking around the table to be next to her. He kneeled next to her, their faces almost at the same height. 

“What is it?”, he asked, taking her hand again. “You can tell me anything, love.”

Hermione heaved a large sigh before resting her head in the nook of his neck. 

“I’m pregnant.”

* * *

While taking the pregnancy test, Hermione couldn’t help but think back to their last pregnancy scare which seemed so long ago. In fact, if she had been pregnant then, the baby would be due soon. She recalled the lingering disappointment that she felt when she found out she was not pregnant. But, she had reassured herself, it was not a good time to have a child. 

However, everything that wasn’t quite right then, was much better now. They had been together for almost a year, and Hermione was sure Ron was going to propose soon. The only question was if he was going to be able to hold out until their anniversary. 

They were both doing well in their jobs. Ron was working on new products by himself and was enjoying the process. Hermione and Ophelia’s bill was in its second stage and was likely to be passed. They were both happy and successful in their careers. 

Seeing Doctor Ailey was probably the biggest positive change in their lives. They were coping so much better, and much more aware of what they needed to work on. Hermione had stopped taking sleeping drought, which was hard at first, but she was sleeping easier each night. They were both taking muggle medications to help with their symptoms and had finally landed on a good combination that worked. 

Overall, she couldn’t say that  _ this _ wasn’t the right time, not really. 

So, when she saw the test read  _ pregnant _ , she began to feel excited. But, the excitement was soon masked by worry.  _ She  _ may feel like it was a good time to have a baby, but Ron might not. They had discussed children, but it had always been in a far off way, not as something that would be happening anytime soon. 

She went to the healer right away to be sure. As soon as she was, she contacted Louise to make sure that she could continue to take her muggle medicine. Louise reassured her that she could, as long as she took the pregnancy potions given by her healer, as they protected the fetus. 

She knew it was time to tell Ron, but she was more nervous than she had been in her life, which was saying something. She decided to make his favourite meal, to warm him up, before giving the life-changing news. She had a long and beautiful speech prepared about their love, ending with her announcement, but in the end she just kind of blurted it out. 

“What?”, Ron asked in shock. Hermione pulled her head back and looked him in straight in the eyes. 

“I’m pregnant,” she said, trying desperately to read his expression, but failing. 

“What do you mean?”, he blurted out, looking dumbfounded. 

“What do I-“, Hermione started, taken aback by his question. 

“You’re pregnant,” he whispered in a half statement, half questioning tone. 

“Yes.”

“And it’s mine?”

She smacked Ron on the forearm. “Of course it’s your-“.

But she was unable to finish her sentence, and Ron pressed his lips against hers. When he finally pulled back, Hermione could see tears in his eyes. 

“That, that’s brilliant,” he said with a grin. 

Hermione smiled back at him and nodded her head in agreement. 

“Are you sure?”, he asked sceptically. 

“Positive.”

He began muttering under his breath about babies and being a dad, but something struck him and he stood up with such force, that Hermione almost fell out of her chair. 

“We should get married,” he stated firmly. He haphazardly reached into his back pocket, grabbing something but not pulling it out. “I have the ring.”

“You have the ring?”, she asked curiously.  _ Was he planning on proposing today? _

“Yeah, I had it all planned out. I was going to propose on our anniversary, one year right? But, we should get married  _ now.  _ I- I should-“ he stumbled to his knees in front of Hermione, but before he could pull out the ring, she took his head in her hands. 

“If you had it all planned out, you should do that. Do it the way you planned.”

Ron managed to nod his head, even with her hands on it. 

“But-we should do it sooner, right?”

“That’s up to you,” she replied with a smile. 

“Okay,” he said, taking his hand off of the ring and holding her hands. 

“Hermione?”, he asked. 

“Yes?”

“You’re really pregnant?”, he asked, looking as though he wasn’t sure of the answer. 

“Yes,” she said firmly, but with a large smile. 

“Wicked,” he said, before kissing her passionately again.

* * *

A couple of weeks had passed since she told the news to Ron. They were waiting until she was a bit further along to tell the family, but she guessed they wouldn’t be able to keep it secret much longer. Ron looked like he was going to burst when he was around his family, and Molly seemed extra suspicious of the two of them. She assumed that being pregnant six times gave Molly a decerning eye. 

Work had been extra stressful, and Ron had suggested that they take the weekend off; go somewhere on a mini holiday, no work allowed. Normally, Hermione would not take him up on such an offer, especially when she had so much to do. But the stress of the pregnancy and work was getting to her, and she knew she needed a break. 

Ron had set up a muggle train ride (thank goodness for wizard anti-nausea potions) to France. He had planned the whole thing, down to buying the muggle tickets for them. She wondered if  _ this  _ had been his plan; an engagement in France. She would be pleased with that, but, to be honest, she would be pleased with just about anything he had planned. She didn’t know if it was the added hormones of being pregnant, but she was so ready to marry him. 

Hermione reluctantly let Ron pack for the two of them, at Ron’s insistence. He didn’t want her doing anything that could stress her out. Which was both endearing and annoying. He carried their magically lightened trunks to the station- Kings Cross, of course, and led them through the crowds. 

They went deeper into the station, walking to platforms 9 and 10. Hermione had to stop for a moment, to reflect on all that the seemingly unimportant platform had led her to. 

“Do you remember your first time?”, Ron asked, stopping as well. 

Hermione nodded. 

“It’s when I first met Harry,” he said. “He was a bit freaked out about having to go through the platforms.”

Hermione laughed. “I was as well. I remember thinking at that moment that it all must have been a hoax. A convincing one, but a hoax nonetheless. I mean, walking through a brick wall? I wasn’t that gullible. Then a family walked through it, and I had hope again.”

Ron smiled and took her hand. He inconspicuously melted into the platform, taking her with him. 

“What?”, Hermione stuttered. “How did you- it’s only open on September 1st.”

“I know people,” Ron smiled. 

Hermione smiled back, taking in the platform. The train was parked, waiting for excited students to board it in a couple of months. The smell overwhelmed her, she couldn’t quite place it, but it soothed her, bringing up memories, good and bad, that occurred at this station. 

She was overcome with the need to touch Ron, someone who was irrevocably linked to the platform. She reached out to him, and he met her in a crushing hug. 

“I was so excited to finally be going to Hogwarts. I felt like I had been waiting my whole life for this moment. Seeing the train and knowing that  _ I  _ was going on it, was overwhelming.” He was shaking slightly, using Hermione to steady himself. 

“Of course, I thought I was just going to school. I assumed I’d get up to shenanigans like Fred and George, but I had no idea. I had no idea what was awaiting me on that train.”

Ron let her go, much to her disappointment, but then grabbed her hand and led her towards the train. She hadn’t noticed before, but one of the doors was open, and he led her onto the train. 

He led her through the train with purpose, not looking back until he reached his destination. 

“This was the compartment that Harry and I sat in,” he said before opening the door and leading them through. “Of course, I didn’t know at first that he was Harry Potter. That should have been my first clue that my life wasn’t going to be normal,” he said with a smirk. 

He turned to face Hermione, gently holding her by her arms. 

“But, it wasn’t Harry that changed my life,” he said. 

“I never would have guessed that, this bossy, bushy-haired girl who told me I had dirt on my face,” he said with a smile, still shaking slightly, “would be the woman that I fought beside, that I love, that would have my  _ baby _ , that I would marry.”

He let go of her arms and flicked his wand, darkening the compartments and magically making dozens of floating candles appear. 

Hermione was taken back by the candles, and she didn’t notice that Ron was kneeling down. 

He took her hand, making her notice his position with a gasp. 

“Hermione Jean Granger,” he said, looking intensely into her eyes. “I love you more than life itself. You bring me joy every day. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?” 

Hermione nodded her head vigorously, only just becoming aware of the tears coming down her face. “Of course!” 

He shakily put the ring on her finger before almost pouncing on her. In between kisses, they whispered loving words to one another. 

After the astonishment wore off and they had tired themselves with snogging, they headed off the train, hand in hand. 

Hermione couldn’t help but think through the timeline of their relationship. They kissed before they spoke of their feelings. They confessed their love before going on a date. They had gotten pregnant before getting engaged. They never did do anything in order. 


	27. Epilogue

For the first time in her life, Hermione felt relaxed in a hospital bed. The birth had gone unreasonably well, with Ron and Molly rooting her on. She was grateful for Molly’s (who insisted on being called mum) expertise and calmness. Though she knew she couldn’t have done it without Ron. He held her hand throughout it, reminding her that he would always be there. Of course, the pain potions didn’t hurt either.

Mum had left for a bit to give Ron and Hermione time alone as a  _ family _ . Ron was holding their daughter, entranced in her existence. Hermione supposed the hospital could be on fire, and he wouldn’t notice, he was so focused. She glanced down at her wedding ring, shining in the light from the window. She could easily remember each minute detail of their wedding day; as if it happened yesterday. 

They had decided not to postpone their wedding until after the birth. After all, they really had been waiting for so long. They married not a month after their engagement. Hermione expected that the news would send mum into a frenzy, but she was calm, having had planned many a quick wedding. The timing was ideal partially because Hermione would not be showing; though the news of her pregnancy had spread like wildfire- everyone seemed to know as soon as they told the Weasleys. It was also ideal because they would be wed on their anniversary; July first. 

The wedding took place in their back garden, taking inspiration from the beautiful flowers that adorned it. The bouquets had been picked from their garden, flowers lined the make-shift grass aisle, Ginny even added flowers to Hermione’s hair, giving her an ethereal fairy-like look. Harry walked her down the aisle before he took his place as best man next to a shaky, teary-eyed Ron. They stood overlooking the lake, her simple lace dress blowing slightly in the wind. 

She had felt jittery and nervous up to that moment. Though she blamed it on the pregnancy. But, as soon as she took Ron’s hands she was instantly at peace. She was going to spend the rest of her life with this man whom she loved so much, who had been through so much and had made it through. Together. Their friends and family cheered when they kissed for the first time as husband and wife. It was the best day of Hermione’s life. Before today, that is. 

Not much time had passed after the wedding before Ginny announced that she, too, was pregnant. Hermione took so much joy from this announcement; not only were Harry and her family, now their children would be raised together, go to Hogwarts together- just like they had. 

Ginny had a harder time with maternity leave than Hermione did, and the two of them spent plenty of time together commiserating. Ginny wanted desperately to be back on a broom, and Hermione couldn’t help but miss her work as well. The day before she left, her and Ophelia’s bill passed, much to Hermione’s relief. But, there still was so much more to do. Hermione was not known for her patience, but now that she finally had her baby, she supposed she wouldn’t have much time to dwell on it. 

“Hand her over,” she said to Ron. 

Ron looked reluctant but handed Hermione their daughter. 

They had spent months agonizing over what to name her. Names were incredibly important, as Hermione had come to appreciate after her memory loss. They wanted her to have a meaningful name, one that demonstrated all that happened for her to be here. Of course, Hermione insisted, her name also needs to be easy to pronounce. Eventually, they landed on the perfect name; Rose. Something so delicate and beautiful, but only becomes so with the help and support of others. 

Hermione held Rose in her arms. She couldn’t get over how small she was; she could easily be held in one of Hermione’s arms. Her face was smushed in restful sleep; an unruly red curly tuft of hair peeking out of her cap. 

“She’s wonderful,” Ron said as he leaned over to kiss Hermione. 

“She is,” Hermione agreed, gently brushing her fingers over Rose’s cheek. This woke Rose, causing her to yawn a yawn so wide it took up over half of her tiny face. But Hermione didn’t care. It meant that she could see her favourite feature of her daughters- Rose has her father’s eyes. 


End file.
